Don't Ever Call Me Draco
by A.C.T. of Paradigm
Summary: Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger are in love. They're far too young; this can't be happening! How can it possibly last? And it has to remain secret, especially from Draco's father. First love: funny, sweet, sad, innocent, tragic, triumphant, confusing. Interleaved with the canonical events of Books 1-3. [Sorcerer's Stone] [Chamber of Secrets] [Azkaban] [Dramione] [Ginny]
1. Don't Ever Call Me Draco

**Don't Ever Call Me Draco**

_[Author's Note: This is the untold story of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, set amid the canonical events of the first three Harry Potter books (so far). All feedback welcome, of course.]_

* * *

Fred Weasley looked from the Siberian love potion to his twin and sighed. "Fine. It's probably fake. But we've got lots, so no problem. All we have to do is select the two lucky guinea pigs and put it to the test."

Fred and George Weasley were in their third year at Hogwarts. Rather to their surprise, the concept of "girls" had recently impressed itself upon their consciousness. Sadly, the concept of "pranksters" had impressed itself upon the girls, so the twins felt they needed an edge—that was also a prank. Hence the Siberian love potion. What a find! Much better than the local muck. You gave it to two people, and they fell in love with each other over a period of days. The slow onset meant that no one suspected a thing. It lasted for weeks before fading away. Or so they had been assured.

Hermione and Ron came into the common room, headed for class. Fred put the potion in his bag without haste. Haste draws the eye.

Hermione was saying, "Really, Ron, it's very simple. It's all in _McGuffin's Book of Magical Items, Volume IV._ All you have to do is ..." They exited the room, Ron looking glum.

The twins' eyes met and they burst out laughing.

"It's a beautiful idea," said George.

"A stroke of genius," said Fred.

"Too bad," they said together. When something bizarre happened in their brother Ron's life, he always blamed the twins, though it was their fault only half the time. Three-quarters, tops. The increasingly harsh retribution from their parents had eventually put Ron off-limits (unless it was really funny).

"Hermione, on the other hand—" said George.

"Will it even work on a first-year?"

"That's the beauty of it. It'll make them weird, so we'll know it works, but it won't do anything real because they're too young. Perfect."

"I don't know," said Fred. He seemed to remember some painful crushes in his first year. It'd be really funny, though. And they'd return to normal eventually, so no harm done. And kids were resilient, right?

George continued, "We'll give 'em just half a dose, just to be on the safe side. But we'll pick two people who really hate each other. That way we'll be able to tell even if it works even a little bit."

"All right. Who?"

They started into space for a while, considering, but then Harry Potter entered the room, walking briskly, since he was almost late for class.

"Potter!" called Fred. "Settle a bet for us!"

Harry stopped reluctantly. "What?"

"Which first-year does Hermione hate more than anyone?"

Harry said, "Draco Malfoy, of course." He hurried off.

The twins broke into delighted guffaws. It was a while before they could speak. In a hoarse whisper, they both said, "Granger and Malfoy!"

Fred whispered in a choked falsetto, "Oh, Draco, you're so snotty! I love you!"

George whispered in an identical falsetto, "Oh, Hermione, your tedium drives me wild!"

Together they whispered, "Kiss me!"

* * *

Hermione stared unseeing at page 113 of _Platonic to Passionate: A Universal Compendium of Magical Adjuncts to Emotional Attachment, by a Very Happy Witch._ It had never occurred to her that there were things she didn't want to know. She'd always thought she wanted to know _everything_. But this stuff was embarrassing! And it alternated between sly euphemisms she had trouble understanding and blunt directness that she had trouble believing.

Worse, she wasn't getting the answer she wanted. She couldn't have a crush on Draco Malfoy! It was ridiculous; it was impossible. Just the thought of him smiling at her, stroking her hair, kissing her softly on the lips, was enough to ... to ... Well, such thoughts were _supposed_ to be enough to fill her with disgust! Or make her laugh uncontrollably. But that's not what was happening. She'd found herself memorizing his class schedule and his birthday. Not to mention reading every word in the library about the Malfoy family.

She had to be under a spell, right? Please let it be a spell! Then it wouldn't be her fault. But her symptoms didn't match any of the descriptions of love potions and love spells.

Oh, god, what if this was _real?_

She had opened this book intending to discover how to _remove_ love spells, or at least detect them, but instead she found herself studying ways to make Draco feel as she did. He didn't like her, she knew. She was all wrong for him. She was too plain, too outspoken, too Muggle-born, too ... everything.

A quiet voice broke in on her thoughts. "Granger."

She looked up. "Draco!" she gasped.

Draco glared at her. "Don't ever call me Draco." He looked around. There was no one near. Even so, he said coldly, "Find us a private place to talk. I don't want to be seen with you."

She hesitated, torn between three insults and two ... other statements. What? Had he said "a private place"? She nodded and said, "This way."

She took him to a tiny, out-of-the-way study nook she'd just discovered, with a window seat overlooking a courtyard. She'd spent hours here yesterday and not a single person had come by.

Trying for the initiative, she said, "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"That's better," he said. "You feel it too, don't you?" Behind his coldness, he was nervous.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're not stupid, Granger."

She tried staring him down. He met her gaze, and almost at once his eyes began to smile. She looked away hastily.

"Well?" he asked.

"What happens if I call you Draco?"

He scowled, then fidgeted for a moment before saying, "Bad things happen to me. Bad things happen to you. Maybe to your friend Potter. I'm not sure."

"Why?"

"Just call me Malfoy, all right? And if anyone's around, ignore me as much as you can. It's dangerous to be my friend; it's dangerous to be my enemy. If you need a reason ..." He stared into space for a moment, then turned to her and said, "Assume that my father is crazy, his friends are worse, and he's the kind of man who hires people to spy on his own son."

"Is that true?"

"My father is not crazy."

"Oh." She looked him in the eye again and said, "I feel it too."

He sighed. "Damn." He slumped down on the window seat.

She asked, "When will it wear off?"

"You tell me, Granger. You're the research genius."

"Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment. I'd never praise a revolting object like you."

"Likewise, Malfoy. I hate your hair."

"Is it even more disgusting than yours? Yours looks like a haystack."

"I'm afraid so."

"Good. Anything to keep you at arm's length. I don't think I could stand it if I ..." He blushed. A boy as pale as Draco could blush like a sunset. "Never mind."

"I don't know when it'll wear off. A normal love potion—"

Draco was coughing theatrically.

"What?" she asked.

"What a beastly word! I'm allergic to it."

"What?"

"Try to keep up, Granger. Don't be so dashed direct. Sometimes the walls have great big ears attached to little tiny brains. Don't make it easy for them."

"Oh. All right. A normal potion of the type in question—"

"Much better," said Draco. "Sometimes you're hardly incompetent at all."

"Likewise, I'm sure. A potion of the type in question would have worn off ages ago."

"Multiple doses?" he suggested.

"They're supposed to take effect all in a rush. That's not what I ... that's not what Subject A felt."

"Likewise for Subject B," said Draco, smiling slightly and nodding approvingly.

Hermione, a little breathless from the smile, asked, "Could it be ... real? The normal operation of ... natural forces?"

"How would I know? Look it up."

"I will."

The clock tower chimed. Draco sighed. "Out of time. Granger, not a word to your ghastly little friends. Or to a diary, or anything like that. It's not safe."

"What if I already told them?" Not that she had.

"Just stop chattering on about it. Their empty little minds will flit to another topic."

"All right."

"And Granger?"

"Yes, Malfoy?"

He fidgeted and looked away from her, then said, "If it doesn't wear off right away ... don't worry that I'll commit suicide or anything. You're not worth it."

She smiled at him. "Me, too."

"So drop dead, Granger, and I'll probably have the bad luck to see you later. God knows you're always lurking about the library and I always have an imaginary project to research."

"Break a leg, Malfoy. I'd hate you if I ever noticed you."

He edged out of the nook, staying as far from her as possible, then practically ran for the exit.

Hermione gathered up her books. Research time was over for the day. She had some diary pages to destroy.

* * *

"I don't see any changes in either of them," said Fred. They were sitting in the Gryffindor common room. "Malfoy and Hermione are acting just the same."

"Yeah," said George. "Maybe we should have given them the full dose."

"How much did you give them?"

"What do you mean? Half a dose! That's what we agreed."

"I mean," said Fred, "what was your estimate of their body weights?"

"Body weights?" asked George blankly.

Fred dug in his bag and pulled out the instruction sheet. He handed it to George. "Show me."

George ran a finger down the sheet. At the bottom he stopped. "The dosage is right here … oh. It's just an example for a 150-pound person. I gave half that to each of them."

Fred flipped the sheet over. There was a table on the back giving dosage by body weight.

George sighed. "All right. What would we guess? Eighty pounds each?" He ran his finger down the table. "It was a full dose."

"Right," said Fred.

"That was sloppy of us," said George.

"I'm almost glad the stuff was fake," said Fred. "We might have caused some serious trouble!"

* * *

__[Next: The Dueling Duo]__

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	2. The Dueling Duo

**The Dueling Duo**

Hermione pretended not to notice Draco's approach. She was in the library, reading _Conflict Resolution for Your Pre-Teen,_ a book she'd asked her mother to send her. She suspected its advice wasn't as easy to follow as it sounded.

"Wake up, Granger!" said Draco.

"Good evening, Malfoy," said Hermione bitterly. "I hope you're well."

Draco was taken aback. "What?"

"It's called politeness," replied Hermione. "That's when—"

"I know what politeness is! Why the devil are you using it on me?"

"Everyone deserves politeness. Even albino freaks."

Draco looked infuriated and bewildered at the same time. "Not here," he whispered. "Meet at the nook." He walked off in the wrong direction. Hermione gathered her books and walked off in a different wrong direction.

Draco was already there when she arrived. She set down her books and faced him. "I'm angry with you." And she was.

Draco looked baffled. "Why?"

"Very funny, staying home from the duel and sending Filch instead."

Draco smirked. "It was, a bit."

"I went with Ron and Harry to the trophy room, you know."

Draco looked alarmed. "But ... but no harm done, right?"

"We found a hidden passage and got away, but we ended up in the Forbidden Corridor. It's every bit as dangerous as Professor Dumbledore says it is. I could have been killed!"

Draco paled, something she wouldn't have thought possible. He reached for her, but he was too late. She slapped him as hard as she could across the face.

The blow rocked him. His expression became blank, empty. Perhaps without willing it, he touched his cheek gingerly with his fingertips. A red handprint was appearing where she'd struck him. His blankness faded as he met her eyes, his eyebrows rising in inquiry.

She didn't know what she expected from him, but this wasn't it. She snarled, "And you fled from an affair of honor. Fled like a coward. Shame on you, Malfoy!"

Draco turned red in sudden fury. Through gritted teeth, he said, "Damn you, Granger!" He clenched and unclenched his fists.

She realized she didn't know the first thing about defending herself if he attacked her. And she'd never turn him in. She looked at him in wide-eyed fear.

He had closed his eyes and was struggling to get himself under control. It took him a long time. Eventually his color and breathing returned almost to normal. He opened his eyes again but avoided meeting hers, his gaze flitting about the room. Suddenly he said, "What? _Conflict Resolution for Your Pre-Teen?_ You can't be serious."

"It's a good book!"

"Clearly." He touched his cheek again. "Ow." He looked at her and shook his head sadly. "Fisticuffs. Really, Granger."

"Don't be an idiot. Fisticuffs means fists. I didn't use fists; I slapped you."

"Well, what conflict resolution shall we try next? Brass knuckles, perhaps?"

"I ... is your face all right, Malfoy?"

He scowled. "We're not going to risk a moment of honesty, are we?"

"Um ... yes."

He met her gaze. "I'm sorry, Granger."

She felt ... strange. "Thank you."

"It makes me feel quite sick to think that I put you in danger. You, of all people."

"It should. It was terrifying. And mean. And—"

"Yes. And you know, Granger, I've dreamed about the time you would reach out your hand and touch me."

Hermione felt herself blush. "Are we still having a moment of honesty?"

"Yes."

She reached out her left hand and stroked his uninjured cheek, just once, with her fingertips. "Me, too."

He sighed happily. "Conflict resolution for your pre-teen. Well, well. Lend me that book when you're through with it, will you, Granger?"

"Of course."

"And never call me a coward again."

"How about 'albino'?"

He made a face. "Only on special occasions."

"And Malfoy, don't ever call me ugly or cruel."

He looked surprised, but said, "I won't."

"You can insult my hair if you like."

"That's kind of you. And never say a word against my mother, ever."

"Is our moment of honesty over yet?"

"Not quite."

"I ... Malfoy, I …" she struggled to form the words she'd been longing to say.

"Time's up! Granger, close your mouth, you look like a fish. I don't know why I put up with you. Not that I do: these meetings aren't happening."

Hermione sighed. Maybe he was right. "Just think, Malfoy, that a wonderful woman like your mother could produce a negligible son like you."

"Isn't negligible a kind of nightgown?"

"That's 'negligee.' 'Negligible' means practically nothing."

"They still sound like the same thing to me. I wear pajamas. I'll leave the negligibles to you."

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Are you flirting with me, Malfoy?"

"I have no idea."

"I'll lend you a couple of books."

* * *

_[Next: Troll Hunter]_

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	3. Troll Hunter

**Troll Hunter**

It was the first of November. Hermione wondered if Draco would seek her out in the library. She'd been waiting in their nook for an hour. It seemed like everyone _else_ at Hogwarts had sought her out today. Some during class, some in the hallways, and some during meals. Many had told her how brave she was to go troll-hunting all by herself last night. Others had told her how stupid she was. Some had expressed both opinions at once. Even the Slytherins had more kind words than harsh ones.

But Draco hadn't come anywhere near her.

Her biggest surprise was when Parvati Patil apologized for forgetting that she was in the bathroom when the alarm was raised. Hermione was touched, especially because she was pretty sure she'd never said a kind word to Parvati. A few critical ones, certainly. Well-intended? She hoped so. But not kind. And Parvati didn't challenge her story. She must know what a lie it was!

And then there were Ron and Harry. Hermione wasn't sure, but she had a feeling that they'd be best friends from now on.

Draco despised Ron and Harry and heaped them with abuse at every opportunity. What if he did this during their private meetings? Draco could reduce her to tears with a word. Did he even know this? He frightened her with his streak of cruelty and his prejudices. He held in contempt everything that was most dear to her. It was so hopeless! Why did she even try to be his friend? Because she loved him, of course. But other than that it was just stupid!

And here he was, even more agitated than usual. He was naturally high-strung, wasn't he? He was good at maintaining his mask of nonchalance, but it was an act.

"No book today, Granger?"

She blushed. She was so distracted today that she hadn't even picked a book at random to explain her presence. She'd spent the whole time staring out the window.

"Malfoy."

"I would have gone with you, you know. You didn't have sneak off without me."

"It wasn't like that."

"Rescued by Potter and Weasley," he muttered. "My god."

"They did very well."

"It should have been me, Granger. It should have been us. Together."

"You'd rescue me?" she asked, entranced by the notion.

"Of course not! Don't be an idiot, Granger. Together, we'd have made short work of that troll. Rescue wouldn't come into it."

She shook her head. She knew with sick certainty that she'd start crying in a moment. "I panicked, Malfoy. My mind went blank. I couldn't move. The troll came closer and closer. All I could do was stare at it! I wasn't any use at all!" She began to weep.

Draco stared at her, aghast. After a moment he whispered, as if to an off-stage prompter, "What do I do?"

"Give me your handkerchief," said Hermione between sobs. "Thank you. Now put your arms around me."

He took her into his arms slowly, gently, as if she were fragile and precious. To her dismay, her sobs became louder.

She stammered, "Please … please tell me everything will be all right."

Haltingly, he said, "It's … It's going to be all right, Hermione." He lowered his voice to a soothing murmur as he pulled her in closer. "Everything's going to be fine. Of course it is. Shh, now. There's nothing to worry about."

"I'm so stupid!"

"It's all right, Hermione. And you can't be _that_ stupid. You're in my arms, aren't you?"

She smiled through her tears, "That's true."

"Everything's going to be fine. And you can read a book on how to be smart, and then you'll be perfect."

"Did you call me by my first name?"

"Shh. You must have misheard me. I don't even know your first name. It's all right now. It's something horrifying like Anxiety or Hermaphrodite, isn't it?"

She snuggled closer. "You're an awful person, Malfoy."

"Everything's just fine. See? I knew you were smart."

"I wasn't hunting the troll. I was crying in the bathroom and it blundered on in."

He stroked her hair and murmured, "I don't believe a word of it. You never cry. Not you."

"Malfoy?"

"Hmm?"

"I want us to be friends forever. I don't want this to ever wear off."

"It's going to be hard, Granger," he said, still in that soft, soothing voice, still stroking her hair. "Life isn't all cuddles with your best enemy and trolls bashing your brains out."

"I know."

"Me, too, then."

She stirred in his arms but he wouldn't let her go. She said, "I want to say it, Malfoy."

"Don't."

"I really do."

"Don't! I'm serious. It draws the attention of fate. People attach spells to it. Don't ever say it."

"I need to."

"Code phrase," he said hurriedly. "We need a code phrase."

"I hate that."

"That's good. We can use that. I'll start. I hate you, Granger. I didn't want to, but I do. I hate you a little more each day. I ask myself, 'Why do I hate her? It doesn't make any sense.' And then I think of all the things I hate about you."

She pulled back so she could look into his face, and also wipe away her tears and blow her nose. "What do you hate about me, Malfoy?"

"I hate the way you don't know that you're brave. I hate how smart you are. I especially hate the way you look at me and the way you feel in my arms. Those are the worst. Yuck!"

"I hate you too, Malfoy. Passionately."

"That's the spirit."

"That only applies to us, right? I don't want to say I hate my parents."

"I love my parents, Granger."

"Oh. Okay. What about things about you that I actually like or dislike?"

"God knows. One of the many things I won't do for a creature like you, Granger, is memorize a lot of codes. We only need a few. Maybe just one."

She snuggled against him again. "Is there any hope for us?"

"Do you know what happens in the last act of Romeo and Juliet?"

"They die."

"They die. They're very young and they both die. Their families come to an end with their generation. No more Capulets. No more Montagues. I'm an only child. So are you. That fate is out there. It's lying in wait for us. I can hear it calling to me."

She shivered. "What can we do?"

"We reject the call. It shouldn't be too hard. We're just kids, after all."

"We'll be grown up some day."

"If we're lucky. And when we're grown, I'll hate you more than ever."

"I'll hate you, too. Maybe you'll even like my friends by then."

Draco made a face. "I'll leave that to my older, wiser self, poor devil. For now, don't bet on it."

"Malfoy?"

"Granger?"

"I like hating you."

"Don't go all soft-headed on me, Granger. And give me back my handkerchief."

She blushed. She'd hoped he'd forgotten about it. She had nothing of his. She handed it over reluctantly.

"I'll give you a token of my loathing soon. Something that isn't monogrammed. I wouldn't want your little friends mocking you."

"That's your job."

"Precisely."

* * *

_[Next: Quidditch]_

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	4. Quidditch

**Quidditch**

Draco tossed the last of Hermione's homework across the small library table near their nook. "It'll do, Granger."

"That's because it's perfect," said Hermione.

"That's what I said."

He had insisted that they check each other's homework when she told him she was checking Ron's and Harry's. She thought he was doing it to get better marks, but in fact he was an excellent student. He found errors in her homework almost as often as she found errors in his.

He barely pretended that this was the point of their meetings. It was an excuse to spend time with her. To talk to her; to be honest with her. But he'd placed many topics off-limits, including his family, his parents' friends, and politics.

She looked over the last of his homework and handed it back to him with a couple of notes on a separate half-sheet of paper. He corrected his homework and put it away.

"Let's talk about Quidditch, Granger," he said.

"What about it?"

"I saw you at the game. It was like you were playing American football while everyone else was watching the Quidditch match. You fouled Quirrell and knocked him on his face! Then you built a victory bonfire out of Snape. I never laughed so hard in my life! What was it all about?"

She'd convinced herself that no one had seen. But if Draco had seen her, someone else must have, too, right? Unless ... unless he saw because he was watching her instead of the game. That was a strange thought. "Who else saw?"

"I don't know. No one near me noticed: they were watching Potter trying to get his broom into a full Nelson. It's just as well. The bonfire isn't supposed to happen _during_ the game. And you were supposed to be carrying the ball."

"I didn't lend you a book on American sport."

"Muggle books are a dime a dozen," he said with repellent smugness over his command of Muggle slang. "Even, god help us, on American topics." Through some unknowable chemistry, his smugness made her want to kiss him.

He continued, "And when that show was over, Potter landed and showed off that he'd made it to first base with the Golden Snitch."

Well, there went the desire to kiss him! "You're disgusting."

"It made me quite faint, the idea of that thing fluttering around in his mouth. I hope the poor Snitch wasn't traumatized. Or infected."

"Do you stay up nights thinking of new ways to be revolting?"

"You've found me out. I stare at the ceiling, listening to the distant sound of other houses' first-years crying for their mummies, and think evil and disgusting thoughts. I have to. It's part of the Slytherin house charter."

"That explains a lot."

"What do you Gryffindors do?"

Hermione smiled. "Being heroic and virtuous is exhausting, Malfoy. We sleep like little angels and spend the night in happy dreams of sending villains like you to Azkaban."

He reddened. "Damn you, Granger! Don't make fun of my family. Not like that."

"What?" Wide-eyed, she searched his face. What had she said?

He relaxed slowly. "You didn't know. My father was locked up in Azkaban for a while. My aunt is still there."

"Oh, Draco! I'm so sorry. That's terrible! It must be hard on you."

He startled her with one of his rare genuine smiles. It melted her heart. Then he looked at her sidelong and wagged a finger at her. "Wrong name."

She took a moment to compose herself and said, "Oh, Malfoy! Even for a hopeless wretch like you, that must be mildly unpleasant!"

"That's better."

"I hate you, Malfoy. You can tell me anything, and I'll still hate you."

"Apparently. I thought you'd read all about us," he said, gesturing vaguely at the endless bookshelves.

"Just in books. None of the books were very new. I forgot to check the newspaper files."

"And you're distracting me from what you did at the Quidditch match. Naughty, naughty. Time to reveal all. You can tell your uncle Draco."

"I can't."

"Honesty is what hatred is all about."

"I really can't."

"It must have been a prank. Probably the Weasley twins. Really, Granger! Don't be such a patsy."

"It was not!"

"Or cheating. Throwing the match somehow."

"Malfoy!"

"No? Well, then, I'm out of ideas. Unless," he joked, "it was some simple-minded act of Gryffindor heroism." His face fell as he saw her expression. "You can't be serious."

"I didn't say anything."

He sighed. "Granger, you'll be the death of me."

His words frightened her. "Please don't say words of ill omen. Not about us." Was she becoming superstitious?

"Sorry. May the forces of heaven and earth, with their twisty sense of humor, give us both our hearts' desire, not that we don't have it already. Amen. P.S. I hate Granger."

"You're eloquent today, Malfoy. I hate you, too."

"You attacked two professors at once, Granger."

"Quirrell was an accident."

"Even so, it was a brazen assault. I'll visit you in Azkaban."

She asked him, wide-eyed, "Is there any chance of that?"

He considered. "Probably not."

"Other than that, Malfoy, how did you enjoy the Quidditch match?"

He laughed. "Other than that? Goyle stepped on my foot and practically lamed me for life. That was the high point. It was all downhill from there."

She said, "Next year, you'll be on the team, and it will be different."

When she didn't continue, he scowled and said, "Go ahead and give the punch line."

"I mean it. You're always saying how good you are."

Still frowning, he said, "You're either getting really good at this or your brain has failed completely."

She stared at him blankly for a moment, then said, "Oh. You don't brag when we're alone together."

"Exactly."

"Why not?"

He shrugged.

"Tell me."

"I don't know everything about myself the way you do, Granger."

"You must have some idea."

He looked around, made a face, and said quietly, "You're asking for another moment of honesty."

"Yes."

Draco stared into space for a long time, then said, "There really isn't much to say, Granger. Mostly I am exactly what I seem to be, I suppose. But in some ways, not so much. You have eyes. You've noticed that I'm the smallest boy in Slytherin, haven't you?"

"You are?" She was amazed.

"Pay attention from now on. I don't like being the smallest, so I make myself seem larger, one way and another."

"You should just wear elevator shoes and let it go at that," she joked.

A moment later one of his shoes thumped onto the table. "Take a look."

She was taken aback, but curious, too. The heels were no thicker than average, but the insole was. She looked at him and he said, "An inch and a half."

She stared at the shoe in her hand. It was like an anti-Cinderella slipper. It said it all, really. Draco was pretending to be more than he was. He did it all the time (though not with her, much), and he often overdid it with humiliating results. Both his pretensions and his humiliations disguised the real boy. Even from himself? Yes, even from himself. He was using his time with her to remember where the real boy was.

She suspected that his family was much the same, surviving on pride, pretense, and prestidigitation; hoping that their acts didn't reveal what they were meant to conceal. But there was one difference: Draco was a small boy, but soon he would be a man. Unlike them, his future held growth, not decline. If they didn't drag him down first. If he could shake off his own habits and prejudices.

She wanted to throw herself into his arms and weep. Worse, she wanted to talk herself out. These would only humiliate him. She pushed the shoe gently across the table and said, "Thank you."

He nodded and bent down to put on his shoe. While he did, she said, "It will be the holidays soon."

"So it will," he agreed.

"Can I write to you?"

"Yes. I suppose we're still in our moment of honesty, so I'll say I'd like that. I'd like it more than you know. I'll guard your letters carefully, but put in enough unpleasantness to support my cover story."

"Which is?"

He waved a languid hand. "That we're the smartest first-years, so it's natural for us to study together. I graciously condescend to overlook your many flaws and even to instruct you in right thinking."

"What if I were to tell my parents that I like you?"

"They'd lock you away. They say the food is horrible."

"You wouldn't rescue me, Malfoy?"

"I'd have to. You're my study partner!"

"All right. What's your address?"

"It might be one place, it might be another. Give me yours and I'll send you an owl when I find out.'

"All right ... Malfoy?"

"Oh, god, not again."

"You're right. Never mind. What do you want for Christmas?"

"I have no idea. Nothing electronic. Something about that stuff bothers me. Surprise me. You?"

"I don't know, either. But I'd like you to give me something."

He said, "Let's close this touching moment of honesty and get back to normal. Granger?"

"Malfoy?"

"You're smart. Investigate mistletoe and report back."

She almost laughed. "And what will you be doing?"

"The same. We can get together and share our findings."

"We have to. We're study partners, after all."

"Yes. It's our duty."

* * *

_[Next: Mistletoe]_


	5. Mistletoe

**Mistletoe**

Hermione looked up from her book in alarm. Draco was muttering angrily to himself as he approached their nook. She called softly, "Malfoy?"

He looked like he wanted to shout at her, but instead he stopped, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. A smile flashed across his face, then he said, "Conflict resolution for your pre-teen. It almost works." Then his face became a mask.

Alarmed, she asked, "Are you all right?"

"Granger. I thought you trusted me."

What on earth? "Malfoy, I … Wait! Time out. Are we having a moment of honesty?"

He turned his head away. "I suppose so."

"I do trust you, Malfoy. Of course I do. Please tell me what's wrong."

"Chaperones, Granger. That's what's wrong. You brought chaperones."

Draco and Hermione had been competing to see who would be the first to purloin a sprig of mistletoe. Draco won. As they'd agreed, he'd hung it inconspicuously over their nook. That meant that today was the day.

"Oh. I'm sorry, Malfoy. Ron and Harry aren't chaperones, they're doing research."

"Don't lie to me, Granger. Never lie to me."

"I'm not lying!"

He turned his back on her. "If you don't want to do it, just say so."

For a moment she really understood just how young they both were; how out of their depth they were; how difficult it was for them to love each other. It was especially hard on Draco, who was too proud to cry and too young not to.

She said, "I'll send them away. Or I'll kiss you right in front of them. Take your pick."

He turned to face her again—and yes, he looked like he'd been on the verge of tears. Not anymore.

"You always were a disgusting showoff, Granger."

"Especially when I'm doing something I'm proud of."

"Wait," he said. "Are we still in our moment of honesty?"

"You decide."

"Granger, you're a revolting specimen and I wouldn't kiss you if you were the last girl on earth."

"Unless there was mistletoe?"

"Well, now that you mention it, I'd have to kiss you under the mistletoe. It's traditional. Without tradition, we're no better than animals."

"Fun fact: I hate you, Draco Malfoy."

"News flash: I hate you, too, Hermione Granger."

"I thought you didn't know my first name."

"I'm not the finest student at Hogwarts for nothing. Very well. Dismiss your lackeys and we'll get on with the program."

For a moment she wanted to set him straight on a couple of things first, but he was right. "I'll be right back."

She hunted down Ron and Harry, who were being lectured by the librarian, Madam Pince, about using the library as a playground. Hermione broke in, "What's all this racket? I'm trying to study!" Draco was a truly vile influence on her, she thought proudly.

Ron and Harry looked hurt. Hermione continued, "Go away and let me work." Then she winked at them.

Ron, well-trained by his brothers Fred and George, turned at once to leave, but had to turn back and say, "Come on, Harry" before Harry started moving. Without another word, Hermione left in the other direction. When she looked back, Madam Pince was gliding off to investigate some faint sounds near the entrance.

When she returned to their nook, her heart was pounding with the expectation of being kissed by Draco. She was astonished when he asked softly, "Who is Nicholas Flamel?"

She hissed, "You are the most irritating boy in the universe, Malfoy! Is this the right time to start an argument by pawing through my private papers? Don't you have any sense of occasion?"

He confused her by smiling at her. Then he lifted a hand so she could see that it was shaking. He said, "Maybe I do, a little." Dropping his hand, "I've never kissed a girl. I haven't even read an instruction book. How do we do this?"

"There's not much to it, Malfoy. No tongues."

"What's that tongue stuff all about, anyway?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted "Adults are disgusting. I had to stop reading before I found out. Just don't. And Malfoy?"

"Granger?"

"Take the lead. Please?"

He looked daunted for a moment, then he seemed to grow larger, more confident—as if "swelling with purpose" was more than just an expression. He took her in her arms; a little clumsily, but with conviction. Then, his eyes smiling, he kissed her softly on the lips. She closed her eyes. His lips were warm and smooth. Her heart raced and her thoughts were so scattered that she needed this kiss to last and last, just so she could grasp what was happening! And then the kiss ended, and he pulled back a bit, still holding her.

He murmured, "When you're in my arms, Hermione, it's always a moment of honesty."

"Can I call you Draco?"

"Only in my arms. But that other word is still 'hate.'"

"I hate you, Draco."

"I hate you too, Hermione. This mistletoe is powerful stuff. I'm sure it's magical." He kissed her again.

He might be right. _Something_ was certainly magical. She asked, "What happens after the holidays, when there's no more mistletoe?"

His lips brushing hers, he said, "Kiss now, plan later."

After several more kisses, he pulled back and attempted to leave her embrace. She struggled, and soon they were both giggling at their impromptu wrestling match. Her giggles apparently inspired him to tickle her, and she leaped back without meaning to.

They sat side by side, trying to master their laughter, not wanting to attract Madam Pince or, worse, other students. For a while they burst into renewed giggles whenever they looked at each other, but eventually they calmed down and grew serious.

Hermione said, "We're far too young for this."

"True, but we nearly make up for it with sheer brilliance."

"We can't allow anyone to catch us, can we?"

Draco nodded. "Mistletoe gives us a bit of an excuse, but not enough. We need to find ways to have absolute privacy. Because we're not going to stop."

"All right. One more kiss before we accept the absolute privacy rule?"

Draco said, almost inaudibly, "We can't. We're being watched."

Some distance away, Snape was looking at them curiously.

Hermione sighed and gathered up her books. She whispered, "I don't know who Nicholas Flamel is. That's what I'm trying to find out."

"I'll let you know if I discover anything, Granger. Which is more than a lowly, half-alive, haystack-haired homunculus like you deserves."

"I'm grateful for your insincere offer, Malfoy. It's more than you seemed capable of."

"What a disgusting lie! No wonder I hate you more than any girl on earth."

"No wonder I hate you more than any boy on earth."

"Drop dead, Granger."

"After you, my dear Malfoy."

Snape had gone. Which is just as well, because they were giggling again.

* * *

_[Next: Home for the Holidays]_


	6. Home for the Holidays

**Home for the Holidays**

To Hermione Granger  
From Draco Malfoy  
Malfoy House, London  
December 18, 1991

Dear Granger,

I hope this letter finds you wallowing contentedly in the mass-produced awfulness of your Muggle home. Send your pathetic return insults to the above address. It's just an enormous, tastefully decorated mansion with the best of everything, but it's home.

If the question should arise, please tell your parents that I have very good teeth. As dentists, I'm sure that's all they ever notice about most people. And I've figured out why you talk _all the time. _It's a Defense Against the Dental Arts, isn't it? Well done, Granger! Five points to Gryffindor!

I am on my third paragraph and I haven't told you how I feel about you. Your girlish heart is yearning to know, looking for a pitter-pat on the head. And yet you don't deserve to know. There's a quandary for you. But I'm kind and considerate, as always, so I'll tell you anyway: I hate you. Since you're Hermione Granger, I hate you more than anyone. Top marks, as always. Well done! Another five points to Gryffindor!

By the way, I may have carelessly dropped a worthless object into the envelope. Throw it away for me, will you? It may look a bit like a locket, but that would be silly.

I wanted to send you a poison ring (we have a few). You wouldn't believe how tacky they are! And they're far too large and obvious. You couldn't poison a blind man with one. I may send you one anyway: it would make you laugh. It would be great fun if your wore it to dinner. How long would it take for your housemates to notice? How would they react? I have no idea. You Gryffindors are strange.

I need to get you here on one excuse or another to help me go through our library. Books that should be under lock and key are mixed helter-skelter with the rest. Some are unpublished manuscripts. We have a catalog for our library, but the best books are unlisted. Maybe forgotten? You wonder if I'm teasing you, but every word is true.

(Ha! I have your full attention at last, Granger! You have a passion for libraries. Don't bother denying it.)

We're having a family reunion tonight, with the extended family present in full, except for an aunt who is unavoidably detained. What a crowd there will be! By the latest estimate, there will be three attendees, including me. I'll meet relatives I haven't seen in _hours._

I am very late with my Christmas shopping. I've been considering Muggle presents for some of my friends. Do you know where I can buy a chain saw on short notice?

Write to me. I'm bored.

Malfoy

P.S. I hate you.

* * *

To Draco Malfoy  
From Hermione Granger  
December 19, 1991

Dear Malfoy:

Thank you for your letter. It was mean and childish, but legible and perfectly spelled. Did you have a servant write it for you?

Yes, you were right: your letter included a locket. I'm wearing it around my neck right now. I opened it, and it has a charming miniature of ... I'm not sure. Do you have a pet ferret? If not, it must be you. For no reason all, I've looked at it hundred times today.

I told Mother about your perfect teeth. You'll be relieved to know that your dental perfection may spread to your entire body and even your mind (if you have one). Only powerful teeth can hold up to such an awful strain, so expect them to turn yellow and fall out soon.

Television! Shopping malls! Personal computers! Ball-point pens! Electric lights! I love being a witch, but Muggle life is wonderful, too.

Yes, of course I'll help you with your library! When? How? I hope you're as excited as I am! Lost manuscripts!

We had a family reunion, too, last year. Almost a hundred people showed up! It was exciting. Oh, Malfoy, I wish ... never mind.

I hate you too, Malfoy. Passionately. Constantly. You're hopeless. You're cruel and prejudiced and you brag about all the wrong things. I wish you weren't so far away. I want to hate you face-to-face.

And let's not forget how putrid your friends are. They're far worse than you. Low marks, Malfoy! Five points from Slytherin! You shine by comparison, but who wouldn't? Your friends are so bad, no one believes they're real. Ron thinks that Crabbe isn't a boy at all, but four badgers in a Slytherin suit. I can't imagine what Goyle is. Harry thinks he's a projection in 3-D Smell-O-Rama.

I'm terribly sorry, Malfoy, but I don't know where you can buy a chain saw, and I wouldn't tell you if I did. I've cried three buckets of crocodile tears over my failure. I've enclosed your present, though. Happy Christmas. I trust you'll find it efficacious.

You must know that I'm very busy, Malfoy. I don't have any time to write, especially to an excrescence like you. So don't expect me to send more than one letter a day.

I hate you. I never want to hear from you again. Send more letters.

Granger

P.S. Are you just teasing me about your library?

P.P.S. I hate you more than ever.

P.P.P.S. I'm glad you hate me, too –xxxooo (that's negative hugs and kisses).

* * *

From Draco Malfoy  
To Hermione Granger  
December 21, 1991

Dear Granger,

A thesaurus? I'm captivated, gratified, elated, and thrilled by your gift! Thank you very much for your incomparably propitious offertory.

And yes, the implied insult makes me smile. At a loss for the right word, am I? You're an awful child, Granger, and you'll come to a bad end if I have anything to say about it.

The library visit is off. I learned a little bit more. These aren't our books; they're someone else's (I don't know whose), hidden in plain sight. (As in _The Purloined Letter _by Edgar Allan Poe, which we have a copy of for some reason.) Until I find out more, we can't be seen examining them. I'll try to think of some other little chore you can help me with.

Better yet, you do it. Make yourself useful for once. Come up with an extra-credit assignment for me. One I can't do without you but doesn't involve Muggle Studies or anything stomach-turning like that.

It's dull here. I'm running out of things to say because nothing is happening. My parents are up to their eyeballs in activities, but I'm not invited to any of them. I'm sure they are all innocent, wholesome, legitimately Christmas-related events. Of course they are. It's not like the holidays are child-centric in any way, so they were forced to leave me behind. Naturally.

I think I will end this letter here. I didn't mean to share my bitterness with you, Granger. I'll be my utterly delightful self again soon enough. Write to me at once so I have something to laugh at.

With negative affection, your anti-friend,

Malfoy

P.S. Don't let my gloom fool you. I hate you with all my heart and part of my left elbow.

* * *

To Draco Malfoy  
From Hermione Granger

December 28, 1991

Dear Malfoy,

I haven't heard from you in a week! I hope it's just your usual sullen ingratitude and your inability to read a calendar: nothing serious.

I can't believe it, but I miss Hogwarts already. I wish I were back in the library in that little study nook. Such happy memories!

Did Father Christmas leave you a very small lump of coal and take ten points from Slytherin? I Hope so. I think it would be a good experience for you.

As for me, I got all kinds of presents! Besides the locket, the smallest present was lip gloss. I've never used lip gloss before. You'll be interested to know that it comes in different flavors. I'm looking forward to trying it!

I'm in an odd mood. I'm finding it hard to insult you the way you deserve. But rest assured, Malfoy, that I hate you as much as ever. I loathe and despise you and wish you to the devil. With bells on. I still open the locket many times a day so I can hate you all the more.

Please write to me, Malfoy. I'm trying, but it's hard to write into your lengthening silence.

Hermione

* * *

From Draco Malfoy  
To Hermione Granger  
December 30, 1991

Dear Granger,

If it was any of your business, I'd say I'm terribly sorry for my silence. We suddenly went on a holiday visit. Very hush-hush. No owls allowed. I had to promise to tell nobody where we went or who we saw. Not that I was allowed to see anything.

The holidays are almost over and there's no time for us to work on our extra-credit project together. I never even mentioned it to my parents, since they're absorbed, bemused, distracted, preoccupied, and inconscient (I like the last one a lot). I have no idea what's up. They treat me like a child. _You_ never treat me like a child, Granger.

I'm bored, lonely, gloomy, bitter, and depressed, Granger. No thesaurus needed for that list. The words were right at my fingertips. I'm even complaining about my parents, and I never do that! So now I'm a disloyal and ungrateful son as well. And sad.

What's wrong with me, Granger?

I'd even welcome your hateful company, lecturing me nonstop, not even pausing for breath. I swear you breathe through your ears. At least you believe that I'm worth the effort of scolding. You believe I can improve. You notice that I exist. You care.

I remind myself of my feelings for you, but when I'm in this silent, empty, lonely house it just seems hopeless. Childish. Wrong. But then I think of your insane Gryffindor courage, of the way you spring into action and rashly take on the whole world and win (if only by accident). A girl who can defeat a troll just by weeping is a person of consequence! A girl who can set Snape on fire unseen, surrounded by vast numbers of witnesses, can do anything. I wish you were here.

This house is silent. No one visits. Except for the books I mentioned, there's never anything new, and hasn't been for as long as I can remember. Items vanish, though. Are they being sold? Is this all we have to live on? I don't dare ask. I can ask you anything, Granger. You don't flinch away from the truth (except that thing with the tongues, and who can blame you?)

I've never known anyone like you. It makes me see things more clearly. Was that a mistake? I can't stand much more of this, Granger; I really can't. Not here. It hurts too much.

Am I doing it wrong? I must be. _Please_ let it be a childish error on my part. Please.

I need to burn this letter. I will burn it. But I'll finish it first.

And yet, if I imagine life without you, it's even worse. I can't go back to how I was before. It would be torture to stop halfway. Promise me you'll keep hating me, no matter what. I mean, _really_ no matter what. And I'll keep hating you.

I really need to burn this letter.

I've been having nightmares. Of course I have! Otherwise my life would be too perfect, right? In these dreams, I always betray you. Sometimes I do it with a sick sense of shame and helplessness. Sometimes I do it with a gleeful delight that terrifies me when I wake up. I think it might happen, Granger. I think it will really happen some day. Maybe more than once. Is even your Gryffindor heroism up to that, Granger? And could I possibly be worth it?

I don't know why I'm in such a dark mood.

Actually, I do know part of it. I just learned about a New Year's tradition. When the clock strikes midnight, lovers ... but never mind.

I envy Potter and Weasley. I could have stayed at Hogwarts. I would have chosen my loneliness myself. There would have been no disappointments.

I'll see you in three days, on the Hogwarts Express. Crabbe and Goyle will be shadowing me unless I can ditch them somehow. I'd love to greet you by getting into an argument at the top of our lungs! That would be great fun. But I don't think I could do it without laughing.

Thinking about laughter helps. Three days. I can hold out for three days.

I hate you so much! Drop dead, Granger.

Your most studious study partner,

Draco

P.S. Send one more letter.

* * *

To Draco Malfoy  
From Hermione Granger  
December 31, 1991 (New Year's Eve!)

Dear Malfoy,

I have your locket open on my desk and I'm thinking how much I hate you. Your letter broke my heart. I'm so glad you didn't burn it! Even a primordial slime like you deserves a joyous holiday.

I want to go on at length about our feelings, Malfoy, but I don't think you'd like that. Not right now. So I'm holding myself back, not letting any tears fall onto the page or _anything._

I'll be glad to get back to school and back to work! I think the material will be harder, and I'll be forced to spend many hours in the library with my study partner. I hope you won't mind too much.

Yes, I know about the New Year's custom you mentioned. The way I feel right now, it wouldn't be right for a new year to begin at all, not unless we did something to start it ourselves. So at midnight, I will close my eyes and think of you, hating you with all my heart. If you do the same, maybe we'll both feel it. It will be 1992, a whole new year. Anything can happen.

Yes, we'll see each other in two days! I like the idea of a big public row on the train! But I don't think I could keep from laughing, either.

But right now I'm still crying. You're so brave, Malfoy, and you don't even know it, do you? You have so much to give, and they just _ignore_ it and demand that you be someone else, someone lesser!

Oh! I just criticized your parents. I'm sorry, Malfoy. Forgive me. That's not what I meant to say. What I'm trying to say is that _I believe in you_. I believe in you more than ever. I know that being Draco Malfoy is even harder than us hating each other. That being Draco Malfoy is lonely, even in a crowd. That even in your dreams you expect to betray and be betrayed. And all these nightmares will come true unless you're clever. (I forgive you in advance, Malfoy.) And that you're far too young for _any_ of this, but you never stop trying. I see you exactly as you are, and I believe in you. Passionately.

But mostly I'm crying because I miss you. No one's ever worked so hard to be my friend! No one's ... so many things. My parents still see the child I used to be. And they don't really understand anything about the wizarding world. That's natural, I guess; part of growing up. But it's sad, too, and it makes me miss you all the more.

Malfoy, there's a word I'm not allowed to say, but you know I think it all the time. I wish you were _here!_ I don't care how silly and weak you think I am, I need you to hold me. I need to cry in your arms, I need you to tell me everything's going to be all right. And maybe, just once, you'll let me whisper that word into your ear, ever so softly? I'd be so happy.

Have faith, my brave Malfoy. I don't hate just anyone. Only the very best. I'm so glad I have you to hate!

Your hateful, grateful

Hermione

P.S. Remember, midnight tonight.

* * *

From Malfoy  
To Granger  
January 1, 1992

Granger,

Just a hasty line to say, Wow! That sure worked! The clock was striking midnight and then, just for a moment, you were in my arms, and we kissed. Lip gloss and everything. (Watermelon, if I'm not mistaken.)

I'm all right now, Granger. Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow. Don't send any more owls. 1992 will be a great year, I just know it.

Draco

P.S. I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you.

P.P.S. How did you do it? All _I_ did was hope.

P.P.P.S. Whisper anything you like. You've more than earned it. There's a faint chance I'll whisper something back.

_[Next: Fisticuffs]_


	7. Fisticuffs

**Fisticuffs**

Hermione caught sight of Draco as he parted from Crabbe and Goyle and entered the library. His two cronies never entered the library if they could avoid it. She wondered why.

Draco saw her and nodded, but instead of approaching her, he headed towards their nook. He was limping. She waited a little while then picked up her books and headed to the nook herself.

He was leaning back in the window seat, his eyes closed. He had a spectacular black eye, the flesh around his eye all puffy and bruised. She wondered if he could see through all the swelling. The bruises were already tinged with green and yellow. He had a scrape on his forehead as well.

Without opening his eyes, he said, "Granger, I've been thinking."

She set her books down. She didn't know what to say, so she said, "Go on."

"It's our code phrase. It's getting stale. And I think we can do better without one."

"Are you all right? Not that I care."

Eyes still shut, he smiled painfully. "Ow. That's the spirit. Weasley split my lip, too. But I'll heal. What did you think of our fight?"

"I missed the whole thing. I was focused on Harry."

"Typical. Remind me not to sit close to you again, Granger. You Gryffindors are excitable."

"You're almost being nice, Malfoy. Do you have a concussion?"

"Ow! It hurts to smile. Granger, your hair is repulsive and your friends are homicidal maniacs. And those are your good qualities."

"That's better," she said.

"How is Weasley, by the way?"

"He's in better shape than you are." When would he open his eyes? Why wouldn't he look at her?

"Expert tip, Granger: after your friends have beaten someone unconscious, leave them behind when you visit the hospital wing for your own little cuts and bruises."

Hermione was incensed. "Madam Pomfrey wouldn't refuse to treat you!"

"Poor, sweet, innocent Granger. Don't worry, Malfoy is here to protect you. What's left of him, anyway. Madam Pomfrey told me that I'll heal, and let it be a lesson to me. Then she threw me out."

Hermione got to her feet, "I'll go see her and ..."

He opened his eyes and pointed back to the window seat. She sat. Yes, he could see out of his bruised eye, a little. He said, "Snape will have a potion ready for me this evening."

"Do you trust him?"

"Snape? I trust his potions. As for the rest ..." He shook his head. "I don't want to talk about Snape."

"What would you like to talk about?"

"Tell me about the end of the Quidditch match. I missed it."

"Harry was far up above the match, then he made a long, steep dive. He almost collided with Snape on the way down. He pulled up just short of the ground and held up his arm. He had the Golden Snitch in his fist."

He sighed. "Too bad he's not a Slytherin. Too bad you're not a Slytherin."

"I could never be a Slytherin!"

"Of course you could, Granger. Don't be an idiot. You know perfectly well that you'll become one of the great ones. You couldn't stop it if you tried. Not that it's a mistake to be in Gryffindor. Slytherin isn't the house it used to be. Half our first-years shouldn't be in Hogwarts at all."

"Is that true?"

"Oh, yes."

"How did it happen?"

"The students who should be here are dead, Granger. Or in exile with their parents. Or were never born at all because their parents were killed. The last struggle with You-Know-Who was hard on the Slytherins."

"You were on the wrong side."

"Slytherins did plenty of dying on _both_ sides, Granger. Look it up."

"Is that true?"

"Was it funny? No. Was it an insult? No. Then it must be true. Not that the Gryffindors didn't take a heroic beating as well. Of course they did. But when the dust settled, the Gryffindors could still fill up classes with students who belonged here. They could still find a head of house with all her marbles."

"But Slytherin wins the house cup!"

"Most points are earned by just a handful of students, Granger. You know that. We still have two or three good handfuls."

"Do Crabbe and Goyle belong here?"

"Are you insane? Of course they don't. Really, Granger! I worry about you sometimes."

"It's just that I have trouble believing that even someone of your weak intellect could be friends with them."

"Do you think I had a choice? The three of us are more like mutual hostages to each others' families and ... what's the phrase? ... stool pigeons."

"That's horrible!"

"You don't know the half of it. Here's a tip, Granger: never watch them eat. It will give you nightmares. And that's against the rules, because all your dreams, even your nightmares, belong to me."

"Mission accomplished."

"Well done. Fortunately, they damaged some books in the first week and aren't allowed in here unsupervised. But they have orders to shadow me when they can. I'm the lordly Prince of Slytherin, you know, and they're my noble retainers in glorious array, just like the old days."

"That's the stupidest thing I ever heard."

"The correct line was, 'Poor Malfoy, how you must suffer.'"

"I beg your pardon. Poor, simple Malfoy, even someone as insensitive as you must find this disturbing."

"And yet I carry on most nobly. Excellent point. Where was I?"

"I have no idea."

"As I was saying, as a princely Lord of Slytherin—"

"I thought you were a lordly Prince of Slytherin."

"Am I going to fast for you, Granger? Using too many big words? They say you girls get brain fever if they try to think."

"I'm getting the gist, thanks."

"As a slithery lord of princedom, I pay my debts. Plus those of my lackeys, I'm afraid. They beat Longbottom unconscious. That means I owe Longbottom one. A favor, not a long bottom. He already has one of those. I don't suppose he'd want another, do you? So now what do I do?"

"Have you considered honesty?"

"I just told you, didn't I?"

"I meant, have you considered honesty with Neville?"

He considered it. So did she. They both burst out laughing.

He said, "Can I do you a favor, and you do him a favor?"

She asked, "You mean there's a favor you wouldn't do for me, but you'd do for Neville?"

He laughed again, then put his hand on his lip. "Ow! Curse you, Granger!" He put his hand to his heart and bowed, "Touché! Right through the heart." They smiled at each other for a while before he added fondly, "You really are the most obnoxious child. Someone is going to have to take you in hand someday. I don't know why I put up with you."

"Maybe I'm the best of a bad lot," she said.

"You're the best of a good lot. If you were a pure-blood, my parents would be ordering me to be friends with you."

"I don't believe you."

"It's true! Gryffindor or not, my parents worship talent, but only if it's pure-blooded. But it's probably just as well. If you were a pure-blood, they'd already be discussing the quality, or lack thereof, of our future offspring. In endless detail."

"That's horrible!"

"You have no idea. After you introduce me, what will _your_ parents discuss with you, Granger?"

But Hermione couldn't answer: her brain had shut down. For what reasons, she couldn't imagine, but her eyes were brimming with tears.

"Uh-oh," said Draco. "How's your privacy research coming along?"

She wiped her tears hurriedly and stood, "Come on," she said. Not far away was a door marked, "No Admittance." She opened it and they walked in.

The little room was completely empty: no furniture, no bookcases, no rug. Just a rectangular room with two doors on opposite sites. Transom windows above the doors let in a little light, but were too high to let anyone to see in. Hermione bolted the doors.

She turned around and found herself in his arms. She sighed happily. After a moment she opened her mouth to speak, but desisted when he began stroking her hair. This was no time to distract him.

He murmured, "It's going to be all right, Hermione. It's going to be fine. Because I ... blast, I _knew_ I was using that code word as a crutch! Because ... um ..."

But she was giggling. She couldn't help it. When she got control of herself she said, "I like you too, Draco. My heart overflows with respectful admiration."

"Respectful admiration," he said glumly. "Ye gods."

"You're hurting my feelings," she said, smiling."

"No, I'm not. My turn. Hermione, you're more beautiful than you look."

"Interesting. Draco, one truly knows a man by his friends."

"Well played. For a girl who can master neither the comb nor the hairbrush, you're not half bad."

"It's not working. I need to say it, Draco! The real word, not a code word."

"No."

"I'm the girl. It's my job."

He looked at the ceiling as he spent a long moment in silent composition, then said, "If I weren't too proud to strike a mere girl, you'd get a sock in the eye for your chauvinism."

"That was very good!"

"Thank you."

"Really, you outdid yourself. 'Chauvinism'! A purely Muggle term! And your statement was self-contradictory. I'm impressed."

"There must be something wrong with my hearing. Kids as young as us can't use words like 'self-contradictory.'"

"And you almost distracted me."

"Oh, no, here we go."

"I need to say it, Draco. Can I whisper it to you now? You promised I could. Please?"

"Woman, you're going to turn my hair white."

"It's almost white now."

"See what I mean?" He held her in silence for a long time before saying, "Okay."

She put her lips almost to his ear and whispered, "I love you, Draco Malfoy."

He shook. It took her a moment to realize that he was crying.

She held him, unsure whether soothing words would help or harm. He cried silently, somehow suppressing the sobs that wracked his body. She almost started sobbing on his behalf, but knew he wouldn't like that.

After a long time that was also far too soon, he pulled himself together with an immense effort that broke her heart. He fumbled for his handkerchief. After a while he said quietly, "Allergies. I hate 'em."

"Me, too."

He put his arms back around her. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

"About what?"

"I need a code word after all. That other word ... it's too much for me."

"Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"My parents will like you. They won't understand you, but they'll like you. They'll see us smile at each other just once, and after that they'll do anything for you. I promise."

"Good. Let's visit over the summer."

"How?"

"I have no idea. Use your enormous brain."

"All right. My enormous brain has already thought of a new code word."

"I'm afraid to ask."

"Detest."

"Not loathe? Or despise?"

"We use those all the time! I don't think we ever use detest."

"Let's put it to detest, then."

"Malfoy! That's the worst pun ever!"

"You're too kind. You're the most detestable girl on earth, Granger."

"I detest you, Draco Malfoy."

He dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief again. "Take it easy with the mushy stuff for a few minutes, Granger. 'Detest' it is. And 'hate' is back to meaning hate now, except when it doesn't. Fair enough. But you still haven't told me how to square things with Longarse."

"Longbottom."

"Whatever."

Hermione stamped her foot. "Well, stop putting the Leg-Locker Curse on him, for one thing! Really, Malfoy! What's wrong with you? I've scraped things off the bottom of my shoe with better sense than you! But I'll have to give it some thought. And Malfoy?"

"Hmm?"

"Try not to get into any more fights with my friends."

"I can't promise anything. You know that."

"Try."

"I wanted to be Potter's friend, you know. I tried. Twice. Once before I knew who he was."

"Twice? Really?"

"Yes."

"I'm impressed, I really am."

"He refused both times, of course."

"When was this?"

"First in Diagon Alley, and again on the Hogwarts Express."

She smiled at him as she put her arms around him again. Then she kissed him gently, not wanting to hurt his wounded lip, and said, "Remember, Draco, first impressions are all very well, but you're an acquired taste."

He kissed her back and said, "Speaking of taste, that's the same lip gloss you wore on New Year's Eve."

She dug the tube out of her pocket and handed it to him. He read the label and said, "Watermelon. I thought so. How did you do it? We were miles apart!"

She smiled and said, "It's a secret."

She didn't tell him that she hadn't done anything. According to her reading, only the power of love could have let them feel that midnight kiss. Telling him would reintroduce that troublesome word. Why ruin a perfect moment? Draco could handle the reality but not the word.

As he kissed her again, she decided that she could live with that.

_[Next: Baby Dragon]_


	8. Baby Dragon

**Baby Dragon**

"You can do this, Granger!" said Draco. They were sitting in the window seat in their nook. "Help me out. Come on. I really want to see the baby dragon. Please?"

"You already saw it," said Hermione, trying not to let him sway her. His act had vanished and he was nothing but an eager little boy. He was adorable!

"It was just a glimpse through the window. Could I hold it, do you think?"

"It's not cuddly, Malfoy. It snaps at anything that moves. I wouldn't hold it for anything."

"But it's just a day old!"

"I'm serious."

"Well, just let me see it, then. Maybe feed it? Come on, Granger. Put it to Hagrid. I've always loved dragons. They're my namesake. Or is that the other way around? Anyway, 'Draco' means 'dragon.'"

She smiled at him. "I've never seen you this excited, Malfoy."

He suddenly looked offended. "You're joking."

"No, really!"

He shook his head. "You've gone soft in the head, Granger. There's something more exciting than dragons."

"Oh. Thank you."

"Think nothing of it. How should we go about it?"

"Well, we can't tell Harry and Ron."

"Are you sure? It seems like the perfect time for a truce to me. They don't have to _like_ me. They already know we're all in this together."

"I'm sorry, Malfoy, but they really hate you. I can't possibly talk them around in time."

"And I hardly see you anymore because you're spending so much time studying with them."

"Malfoy, are you jealous?" She was enchanted by the notion, though she felt bad for him, too. It was so romantic!

"Me, jealous? Malfoys are made of sterner stuff than that. I laugh with scorn: ha, ha! Yes, of course I'm jealous, Granger! Don't ask stupid questions. I miss you. And your friends whine and complain the whole time. They make you work so hard! And when they call you names, they mean it. It makes me insane. They don't appreciate you. Well, not enough. You deserve better."

She smiled and patted his hand. "Poor Malfoy. I'll tell you something: no one ever told them they need to be twice as grown-up as they really are. They think they're just kids."

"I ... I have really mixed feelings about that," he grumbled.

"I know, my detestable Malfoy."

"Maybe I should just go knock on Hagrid's door by myself."

"He's worried that you might tell. He doesn't trust you and its your fault! You've been horrible to him. He doesn't want you to have another look. He's already panicky. Don't do it."

He sighed. "I'm all out of ideas. Advise me, Granger."

"First off, you're being too nice, Malfoy. Someone might hear! You're not working to your full potential. Three insults: go."

"Granger, every second away from you is precious."

"That's very good!"

"Your breath could burn a hole through a silver tray."

"Vivid."

"Your eyes are like deep brown pools. Cesspools."

"Eww!"

Draco smiled. "I feel better."

"I'm so sorry to hear that!" She thought for a moment and said, "Here's my advice, Malfoy: let it go. Please. Everyone's terrified and frustrated right now. They can't think straight. Especially Hagrid. And I promised to keep it a secret, and I'm _not!_ I'm letting everyone down! What's wrong with me? Am I just a blabbermouth, Malfoy?"

"Of course not."

She felt ready to cry. "I am, though. I need to keep my promises. Malfoy, I need to stop talking about this. Completely. All right? But I don't think I can unless you stop talking about it, too. I know it's not fair to you, but can you do this for me? Please?"

"Stop talking about it completely?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. Don't even hint or mention it indirectly."

He shifted restlessly in his seat, looking angry, stubborn, frustrated. Twice he opened his mouth to speak and closed it again. Then he took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and smiled sadly. "For you, Granger, anything."

He was magnificent! She smiled at him gratefully as her eyes overflowed.

He glanced around, then pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at her tears. "Allergies?"

She said, "Something got in my eyes."

"Both at once? That's a good trick. One last question: does anyone else know?"

"The person who sold Hagrid the egg knows, I guess. Otherwise, I don't think so."

"Thanks. Mum's the word, then."

"About what?"

"I have no idea."

* * *

Hermione stormed into the library. Malfoy was already in their nook. He smiled at her, then looked surprised, and then alarmed.

"Granger."

"I'm so angry at you, Malfoy!"

He paled, and his voice actually quavered as he valiantly played his role. "I hope that's steam and not smoke coming out of your ears, Granger. Keep your voice down. Have a seat. Tell me your troubles. Uncle Draco will fix everything."

She noted his trembling voice and hands but was too angry to stop. "How dare you gloat at Ron when he's sick in the infirmary!"

He looked around and said, "Let's find someplace more private."

"No."

"Hermione—"

"Don't call me that!"

He recoiled far more than he had when she'd slapped him. They stared at each other for several seconds. Finally, she said, "Well?"

"Granger, I ... I ... give me a minute," he said.

"So you can make up more lies?"

His face turned red and he leaped to his feet, fists clenched. It had been a long time since she had seen him this angry. He closed his eyes as he had before, lost in the struggle against his own fury. His breathing was loud and hoarse.

Hermione, angry, fearful, and ashamed, snarled, "Don't talk to me!" and fled the library.

* * *

Hermione had never been so exhausted. She somehow managed to keep pace with Harry as they carried the crate holding Norbert the baby dragon up the dark, silent, endless stairs and corridors.

It was always stifling under the invisibility cloak, even without the contribution of Norbert's tremendous stench. This was torture.

But even this wasn't enough to keep her mind off Draco. He hadn't said a word to her since their argument in the library. He'd avoided their nook and refused to look in her direction during meals.

She'd decided to return his locket, but burst into tears whenever she started to take it off. Instead, she found herself wearing it twenty-four hours a day, even while bathing, which she hadn't done before. She dreaded that he would return the book she'd given him.

"Nearly there!" panted Harry. Hermione looked around. They had almost reached the tallest tower. That didn't count as 'nearly there'! Endless steps stood between here and the top of the tower!

A sudden sound almost made Hermione scream. So close! They cowered back against the wall. What was happening?

A sudden light revealed Professor McGonagall in her bathrobe and ... Draco Malfoy? What were they doing here?

McGonagall had hold of Draco. She roared, "Detention! And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you!"

To Hermione's horror, Draco said, "You don't understand, professor! Harry Potter's coming! He's got a dragon!"

"What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on—I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!"

When the corridor was silent once more, Hermione and Harry continued their journey, lugging Norbert up the tower. When they reached the top, they took off the cloak, breathing in the cold night air with infinite relief.

Hermione was exultant. Draco had lived down to her lowest expectations. Everything was his fault! She had nothing to feel guilty about after all. What a relief! "Malfoy's got detention! I could sing!"

"Don't," said Harry.

And then Charlie Weasley's friends arrived and cheerfully took Norbert away with them. Hermione was free!

Harry seemed equally pleased. They were both delighted with their night's work. They bounded carelessly down the steps.

And then Filch caught them.

* * *

The next day was horrible. The news came out that they had cost Gryffindor 150 points and everyone stopped talking to Harry, Hermione, and Neville. Hermione was too humiliated even to raise her hand in class, which had never happened to her before. Even Ron's release from the hospital wing couldn't cheer them up much.

At breakfast the next day, an owl delivered a package for Ron. His hand was still sore, so he said, "Open it for me, will you, Hermione?"

She opened it, and it contained a book and a note.

"Read it," said Ron. Hermione read it aloud, just loud enough for Ron and Harry to hear:

* * *

To: Mr. Ronald Weasley  
From: Draco Malfoy

Dear Weasley,

As you can see, I am returning your book, along with the other material I found inside. Many thanks for the loan.

I'm glad that your hand is doing better. I wish you a full recovery. Among other things, this would give me the chance to win on merit alone if we should ever have a rematch of that memorable fight.

Yours truly, 

Draco Malfoy

P.S. I showed the letter in the book to no one. My word on it.

* * *

"That jerk!" said Ron. "He's always making fun of me. He couldn't be any snootier if he tried."

Harry said, "I was so happy when McGonagall nabbed him!"

"He probably set us up," said Ron. "Tattling to Filch again. What a slime. I _knew_ he wasn't interested in dragons!"

"What do you mean?" asked Hermione.

"Oh, when he came to see me in the hospital wing he said he only got a glimpse of Norbert, and wanted me to tell him more. Asked about my hand, too. Was it from a bite? A scratch? I told him what I thought of him. Then he told me what he thought of me. We traded insults and he went away with his tail between his legs. I remembered some of the zingers Fred and George and Charlie use, and all he could come up with was 'your family is poor.' Malfoy's useless at insults. But how did he manage to find Charlie's letter?"

Hermione asked, "Did he flip through your books or something?"

"No," admitted Ron.

Harry said, "Then he just got lucky. Let's burn that letter."

"Good idea," said Hermione.

* * *

For the first time in what seemed like centuries, Hermione approached their nook at the usual time—and there he was. Feeling like she was in a dream, she took the last few steps and sat down beside him.

"Granger," he said, "you're looking radiantly awful today."

"Same to you, Malfoy."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, my dear Granger."

"Do we want to stay here or go elsewhere?"

He made a motion with his head and they made their separate ways to their secret room. When the doors were locked he took her in his arms.

Troubled, she asked, "Shouldn't we discuss—" but then he was kissing her.

"Kiss first, ask questions later," he explained a moment later. He kissed her again, and she realized he was right. This was pure eloquence.

She couldn't hold off her questions for long. "But what if—" she started, but he placed a finger on her lips.

"Shh. Not yet. Wait just a little bit longer. Everything's going to be all right. You'll see. I missed you, Hermione."

She sighed happily. "I missed you, too."

He smiled at her and asked, "Do you remember what I looked like when you stomped out of the library?"

"Yes. A very angry beet."

"Pure poetry. And you looked like an avenging angel on a bad hair day."

"Yet here we are," she said. Was this was a miracle felt like?

"Here we are."

She kissed him. "Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"What happened?"

He said, "I can't even remind you that I'm not allowed to talk about it."

"I release you from your promise."

He took a step back and put a hand theatrically to his brow. "Oh, what a relief! Wait! Where am I? Who am I?"

"Very funny," said Hermione. What happened?"

"Which part?"

"Start with Ron."

Draco said, "I figured I'd lighten his long, lonely, boring hours in his hospital bed by letting him tell me all about the baby dragon. But do you know what, Hermione?"

"What?"

"Weasley doesn't like me!"

She laughed. "No! Really?"

"He got offended right away and started calling me names. Some of them were really good; I had no idea."

"He has five older brothers."

"So he does. He's lucky. I responded with pathetic little jibes that wouldn't hurt a fly. When I use stuff like that on you, you wonder if I'm in a coma. But he didn't calm down, so I left before Madam Pomfrey could do something medical to me."

"And the book?"

"I needed an excuse for visiting, since Madam Pomfrey knows we're not bosom friends. What an odd phrase! Are you my bosom friend, Granger?"

"Don't go there, Malfoy."

"So I told her I wanted to borrow a book. To my surprise, he actually had some! I'd have thought he'd eat them or tear them up for nesting material. So I picked one up at random, saying 'That's the one' (Madam Pomfrey was right there, you know). Then she wandered off and we had our little battle of wits. When I got back to my dormitory, I was amazed to find that letter inside!"

Hermione asked, "Why were you lurking around the tower?"

He put his arms around her again. "It's my turn to ask a question. Why didn't you tell me that you'd enlisted McGonagall?"

"What? We didn't!"

"Then what was she doing there, prowling in the dark, so far from anywhere? It doesn't make any sense!"

She asked, "What were _you_ doing there?"

"I was waiting for you, of course. It was my last chance to see the baby dragon. And maybe I could make myself useful."

"Useful? How?"

"Well, I could draw off lurking McGonagalls, for one thing. Not that I thought of that."

She said, "It worked. We would have run right into her."

He bowed as much as he could with his arms around her, which wasn't much. "My pleasure, then."

Her heart sinking, she brought up the part that scared her most, "We were close enough to hear what you said."

"What did I say?"

"You said Harry Potter was coming with a dragon."

"Oh. That. She scared the life out of me, grabbing me in the dark. I panicked. There was no way I'd mention _your_ name, so I found myself babbling about Potter."

She shook her head, "Not your best moment, Malfoy."

"And you were there to witness it. Of course you were. The perfect end to a perfect day." He sighed, then said, "But what I can't figure out is how McGonagall doubled back in time to nab you and Potter."

"She didn't. Filch got us on the way back."

"Where?" he asked.

"At the base of the stairs."

"Wait, that sounds almost normal! Is that allowed?"

"Apparently."

"And the two of your lost 150 points? Incredible. How were they divided?"

"No, Neville came to warn us and he got caught, too. Fifty points each. He said you were telling people you were going to catch us, that we had a dragon."

He looked surprised. "What? Me? I said that? Who to? Didn't happen. And how was I supposed to catch you? With a big butterfly net? It's not like I could overpower you and Potter, or that anyone would believe me. Not unless I had the dragon as evidence. The same dragon that swelled Weasley's hand until it was as big as Quirrell's turban. No, thank you! And those four strapping friends of Charlie Weasley might have been anywhere. Get a grip, Granger!"

"Maybe you sent Filch."

"Did he search you for concealed dragons?"

"Um, no."

"It's so strange ..." He stood lost in thought until Hermione felt a little lonely, even with their arms around each other. She poked him in the ribs.

"Ow! Sorry," he said. "It's as if Longbottom read my mind. Does he do that?"

"That's ridiculous."

"You explain it, then."

Of course, right now, with his arms around her, casting him in the villain role wasn't easy! But she knew three things: First, Draco's childish eagerness to see the baby dragon had been real; second, the night of the midnight duel, when he'd set Filch on them, he'd prudently stayed away; and third, he loved her and wanted to protect her. She'd been unsure about that last part, but not anymore. His version sounded a lot more like Draco Malfoy than any alternative she could think of.

She cuddled closer and said, "You warned me you'd betray me, Draco."

"So I did. I did a really lousy job this time. It makes a man proud! But that's nothing. With practice, I'll get even worse."

"We can always hope. Draco, what are we going to do?"

"We're doing it. Have we burned any bridges, my detestable Hermione?"

"It was horrible without you! Draco, I felt so …"

"Devastated?" he suggested. "Lonely? Stupid?"

"Yes. All of those."

"I was talking about _my_ feelings."

"Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"I was mean to you. I wouldn't listen. I put impossible demands on you."

"I noticed that."

"I'm sorry, Draco. It'll never happen again."

"Of course not. Hermione Granger never makes the same mistake twice."

"Do you forgive me?"

"Of course I do. No one else cares about the real Draco Malfoy."

She hugged him tight. "I wish I didn't believe that. It's so sad!"

"Shh, now. We'll be all right. We'll go back to our old schedule. We'll take care of each other and plan for the summer. Are you holding up okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"People are giving you the cold shoulder."

"I'll be all right now."

"Good. Any idea what we'll be doing for detention? Whether we'll do it together?"

"I have no idea."

"Maybe you can pry it out of McGonagall."

"I'll try."

"And I think Potter and Longbottom are the teensiest bit miffed at me. Maybe you can keep them from tearing me limb from limb. I'm fond of my limbs."

"You should have said that you're attached to your limbs. Five points from Slytherin! I'll do what I can."

"Good." He hesitated, then added, "And, Hermione?"

"Draco?"

"You … you gave me a second chance. I didn't expect you to. Thank you. But … are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Most of the bad things people say about me are true. I'm an awful person except where you're concerned. Sometimes even then. I really don't deserve a second chance."

"I disagree, my detestable Draco, but it doesn't matter. If you don't deserve me, you will. Trust me. You're one of my projects now, Draco, and I always get top marks."

_[Next: The Forbidden Forest, Part 1]_


	9. The Forbidden Forest, Part 1

**The Forbidden Forest, Part 1**

Draco silently handed Hermione the note. It read:

_Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight.  
Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall.  
_

_Professor M. McGonagall_

She read it and handed it back, saying, "Mine's just the same."

He slumped down onto the window seat of their nook and said, "Detention that starts an hour before midnight can't be good."

"They won't let anything bad happen!"

"Midnight," he said. "The witching hour."

"You're scaring me, Malfoy."

"Good. Make sure you wear your locket; it has protective charms."

"I never take it off," she admitted.

"And it might help in identifying the body."

"Malfoy!"

"Sorry. I have a bad feeling about this. If it were McGonagall, fine, but it's Filch. And 'meet in the entrance hall'? That means we're going outside."

"Don't be stupid. They wouldn't do that."

"Dress warmly. Try to get some sleep beforehand so you're not too groggy."

"You're really concerned?"

"Bad things happen at midnight, Granger. Trust me. I have experience."

She opened her mouth to ask, but he shook his head. She settled for asking, "Any other advice, Malfoy?"

"I won't give him any excuses, but try to keep Potter from picking a fight with me. We need to stay focused."

"I'll do my best."

He smiled at her for the first time and said, "You always do."

* * *

Hermione managed a little fitful sleep before rising. She dressed warmly, as Draco had suggested. She went down to the common room and saw that Harry and Neville were already there. So was Ron, who said goodbye and wished them good luck in a way that revealed his anxiety. No one thought this would be an ordinary detention.

Harry, Neville, and Hermione walked silently to the entrance hall, where Filch and Draco were waiting. Draco nodded to them but said nothing. He seemed withdrawn.

Filch took them out through the main doors. He kept up a line of malicious patter about bringing back physical torture in the immediate future. Hermione had read _Hogwarts Discipline Through the Ages_ earlier in the day and knew that Filch was making it all up. Anyway, Filch was clearly taking them straight to Hagrid's hut, which seemed promising. Overall, she was less frightened than she'd expected. Hagrid, Harry, and Draco wouldn't let anything happen to her!

Neville was weeping already. He managed not to sob, but his constant sniffing revealed his situation. He never had a handkerchief. Hermione yearned to thrust her own handkerchief into his hands, but she hadn't brought a spare.

Overhead, the nearly-full moon was quarreling with the scudding clouds, with the balance between light and darkness seesawing this way and that.

Hagrid called from the distance. "It that you, Filch? Hurry up! I want to get started."

Filch sneered at Harry, "I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well, think again, boy—it's into the forest you're going, and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece."

Harry stood his ground bravely, but Neville groaned. Draco went as still as a statue. A moment later he came back to life and said, "The forest? We can't go in there at night! There's all sorts of things in there … werewolves, I heard."

Neville was sniffling again.

Filch said, "That's your problem, isn't it? Should've thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn't you?"

Hagrid loomed out of the dark, his huge dog Fang at his heels, a crossbow in his hands, and a quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder. "About time!" he told Filch. "I been waiting for half an hour already." Turning his back on Filch, he said, "All right, Harry, Hermione?" He ignored Neville and Draco.

Incensed, Hermione was about to draw his attention to the other two when Filch said, "I shouldn't be too friendly to them, Hagrid. They're being punished, after all."

"That's why you're late, isn't it?" growled Hagrid. "Been lecturing them, eh? It's not your place to do that. You've done your bit. I'll take over from here." He turned his back on Filch again.

Filch said, "I'll be back at dawn for what's left of them." He turned and strode off in the direction of the castle, taking the lamp with him.

In a strained voice, Draco told Hagrid, "I'm not going into the forest."

Hagrid said, "You are if you want to stay at Hogwarts. You've done wrong and now you have to pay for it."

"But this is servant stuff, it's not for students to do!" objected Draco wildly. "I thought we'd be copying lines or something. If my father knew I was doing this, he'd—"

"He'd tell you that's how it is at Hogwarts," said Hagrid. "Copying lines! What good is that to anyone? You'll do somewhat useful or you'll get out. If you think your father would rather you were expelled, then get back to the castle and pack. Go on!"

Hermione discovered that she'd put her fingers in her mouth. She was holding her breath. Draco had a wild streak. Would he raise the stakes by calling Hagrid's bluff? He glared at Hagrid for a long moment, then dropped his eyes.

"Right, then," said Hagrid, turning away. Draco took this opportunity to wink at her. She relaxed. He was frightened and offended, but he was still thinking of her.

Hagrid continued, "Now, listen carefully, because it's dangerous what we're gonna do tonight, and I don't want no one taking risks. Follow me over here a moment." He showed them the start of a path that wound uncertainly into the forest. "Look there," said Hagrid. "See that stuff shining on the ground? Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there been hurt badly by somewhat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We're gonna try and find the poor thing. Might have to put it out of its misery."

Draco asked in a quavering voice, "And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?"

"There's nothing that lives in the forest that'll hurt you if you're with me or Fang and keep to the path. Right now we're gonna split into two parties and follow the trail in different directions. There's blood all over the place. It must have been staggering around since last night at least."

As soon as Hagrid said, "split into two parties," Draco and Hermione locked gazes. Draco pointed at Hermione and then at Hagrid. She nodded. He said quickly, "I want Fang."

"All right, but I warn you, he's a coward," said Hagrid. "So me, Harry, and Hermione will go one way; Draco, Neville, and Fang will go the other."

Neville looked alarmed. Hagrid continued, "Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we'll send up green sparks, right? Get your wands out and practice now."

None of them had any difficulty producing green sparks that shot up high and bright like a fireworks display.

Hagrid said, "That's it. And if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, and we'll all come and find you. So be careful. Let's go."

They went into the forest. Soon they reached a fork in the path. Hagrid sent Fang down the right-hand fork, with Draco and Neville following the huge dog reluctantly. Hagrid, Harry, and Hermione took the left-hand fork.

Hermione watched over her shoulder until Draco and Neville were out of sight. She felt she was with the wrong group. Hagrid had kept his two favorites close to him and sent the other two away. That wasn't right! And Neville needed looking after.

She wanted to have faith in Draco, she really did, but her love wasn't anywhere near as blind as that. Harry, of course, was a rock: not just steady and resourceful, but with an understated boldness. And loyal, too. He was the best friend ever. He'd proven it time and again. But Draco? He had a nervous streak. She wasn't sure, but she feared it made him excitable, error-prone, even panicky at times. Maybe he'd master it, maybe he wouldn't.

After they'd walked a while, Hagrid asked her if she was all right, but dragged them behind a tree before she could answer. Something made a slithering sound nearby, like a cloak trailing over the dead leaves on the ground. Something about it terrified her. The sound soon faded into the distance.

Hagrid admitted that he didn't know what the creature had been. They started down the path again, but stopped when they encountered a centaur, Ronan. Hermione had never seen a centaur before. Ronan seemed far more interested in the brightness of Mars than of events in the forest, which irritated Hagrid. A second centaur appeared. This one, too, seemed preoccupied by Mars.

They continued down the path until Hermione suddenly saw sparks shooting up into the air some distance away. She whispered, "Hagrid! Look, red sparks! The others are in trouble!"

To her astonishment, Hagrid said, "You two wait here! Stay on the path. I'll come back for you." Then he plunged noisily into the underbrush. The sounds soon dwindled and were soon lost.

Harry and Hermione were alone at midnight, abandoned in the Forgotten Forest.

Hermione admitted to herself that she was terrified. Looking for reassurance, she whispered to Harry, "You don't think they've been hurt, do you?"

"I don't care if Malfoy has, but if something's got Neville … it's our fault he's here in the first place."

Hermione's heart sank. Now she wasn't just terrified, she was ashamed as well. And resentful. Draco knew the difference between a request for information and one for reassurance. Harry did not.

Eventually they heard the unmistakable sound of Hagrid's returning footsteps. Draco, Neville, and Fang were with him.

Hagrid was in a foul mood. More to himself than to Harry and Hermione, he muttered, "Sneaking up on Neville as a joke. I've never heard of anything so daft."

Hermione looked at the two boys. Neville was withdrawn, pale, and silent. He'd acquired a handkerchief somehow and used it frequently. Draco, on the other hand, seemed more confident than before. His face was a mask until he looked directly at her. He didn't smile, but he nodded, as if to tell her not to worry about him; he was all right. He turned to Neville and whispered something to him. Neville nodded, and Draco gripped his shoulder briefly, then turned away. To Hermione's surprise, Neville didn't flinch from this contact.

Hagrid growled, "We'll be lucky to catch anything now, with the racket you two were making. Right: we're changing groups. Neville, you stay with me and Hermione. Harry, you go with Fang and this idiot." He bent down to whisper to Harry in a too-loud voice, "I'm sorry, but he'll have a harder time frightening you, and we've gotta get this thing done."

They all went with Hagrid as he put Malfoy, Harry, and Fang onto the right path, then he turned around and took Neville and Hermione back down their own path.

Neville took comfort in Hagrid's presence and ceased sniffling, and they walked down the path in near-silence, deeper and deeper into the forest. Every step increased Hermione's dread. It seemed as if they had been walking forever.

Suddenly, far in the distance, Hermione saw red sparks shooting up into the sky. "Hagrid!" she hissed.

Hagrid turned and saw the sparks. "Follow me! Stick close, now!" He charged back down the path with a speed that surprised Hermione.

She sprinted after him. It was all she could do to keep him in sight, trying not to trip on the uneven ground as she ran through the darkness. She had no attention to spare from the task of slowly closing his lead.

After what seemed like ages, horribly out of breath, she had nearly caught up with him. Then she saw a centaur up ahead, with Harry on his back. "Harry!" she gasped. "Harry, are you all right?"

"I'm fine. The unicorn's dead, Hagrid. It's in that clearing back there." He slid off the centaur's back. The centaur said good-bye and trotted off into the forest.

Harry told Hermione and Hagrid a blood-chilling tale of a dead unicorn and a cloaked vampire who, from what the centaurs hinted, might be You-Know-Who in person. This was so appalling that even Hagrid couldn't get out of the forest fast enough. He hustled them back to the main Hogwarts entrance, then turned around and disappeared into the darkness.

Harry and Hermione shut the massive double doors and sighed with relief. To her surprise, he still seemed energetic. She was exhausted.

"Harry," she said, "I'm never getting detention again as long as I live."

"Me, neither," he agreed.

They walked to the common room. To their surprise, Ron had waited up for them, or tried to. He was curled up asleep in one of the armchairs in the common room. Harry shook him awake and started pouring out the news of the evening, pacing back and forth, looking at the events from every angle. He was convinced that the unicorn-killing specter was working for You-Know-Who, or might even be You-Know-Who himself, ready to pounce on the Philosopher's Stone at any moment, perhaps even as he spoke! Harry was vivid and plausible. Ron's eyes got bigger and bigger.

More than once, Hermione reminded him that Professor Dumbledore was the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of, so Hogwarts itself was safe, regardless of what was prowling the Forbidden Forest, but Harry wasn't completely convinced.

Eventually they talked themselves out and went to bed. It was nearly dawn.

Hermione had just pulled up the covers when she gasped, "Draco! Neville!" She had forgotten them in the excitement—and so had Hagrid. Nor had they seen Fang. How could they be so stupid?

She threw on her clothes and hurtled through the portrait hole. As soon as she set foot in the corridor she heard footsteps in the distance. She hid behind a pillar.

In the gloom she could make out two figures. One was limping slightly. They approached the portrait in silence. The Fat Lady demanded, "Password?"

Hermione heard Neville's voice whispering, "I forgot it again."

Draco's voice said calmly, "Pig's snout," and the portrait swung open. Draco clapped Neville on the shoulder and said, "In you go, Longbottom."

Neville climbed through the portrait hole without another word. The picture swung back.

"Draco!" hissed Hermione.

He jumped, then turned around and drawled, "That's 'Malfoy' to you, Granger."

She hurled herself into his arms, almost knocking him off his feet. She said, "I was just going out to look for you!"

"And you found me right away! Well done. Five points to Gryffindor." But he clung to her fiercely, belying his light tone.

"What happened? Are you all right? Were you limping? I'm fine, by the way."

He yawned hugely. "Sorry. What happened? What didn't happen! I'm fine, Hermione. Neville's the one with the limp. He fell a couple of times, running in the dark. He's okay. But I'm done in. I have to sleep. Think you'll make it down to breakfast?"

"Maybe not."

"Let's meet after lunch, then, in the usual place. I'll tell you all about it."

"All right." She noticed he hadn't relaxed his grip on her.

He asked, "Were you really going into the Forbidden Forest to look for me?"

"If I had to."

He held her in silence for a long time, then took a step back and said, "Lend me your handkerchief, Granger." She handed it over and he wiped his eyes and blew his nose, then wiped his eyes again. "Allergies," he said, his voice not quite steady. "Thanks." He handed back her handkerchief.

She put her arms around him again and he sighed and relaxed. After a while he said softly, "I can't find the words, just … thank you. Maybe there aren't any words. And I'll fall asleep if I stand here any longer. So kiss me and say goodnight like a good girl."

She kissed him. "Good night, Draco."

"Good night, Hermione. I'm glad everyone's in one piece. Including Fang, by the way."

She gave him another quick kiss and they parted. She returned to the common room and bed.

* * *

Draco was in good spirits when they met in the library after lunch.

Hermione said, "You don't look like someone who disgraced himself at least twice last night."

He laughed. "You look surprisingly perky yourself, Granger. Though you still have twigs in your hair."

"I do not!"

"My mistake. How's Longarse?"

"Be nice, Malfoy, if you know what that means. I can wait while you look it up in the dictionary. No? Neville was still in bed when I left for lunch. Harry and Ron say he's okay, just exhausted."

"Good. Get both of my poor, long-suffering handkerchiefs back if you can. He thinks he dropped the first one, but it might be in one of his pockets. Wear gloves."

"I was wondering where that handkerchief came from. He always needs one and never has one. You carry two handkerchiefs?"

"Gentlemen carry a spare. And people are always crying around me. It's the strangest thing!"

"Very mysterious, I'm sure. What happened, Malfoy?"

"What happened to you, Granger? And to Potter? I'm sure your story is better than mine."

"Well, of course it is!" she said. "We're the heroes! You and Neville are comic relief. Tell yours first."

"Comic relief? I'll get you for that, Granger." But he obediently composed his thoughts for a moment, then began his tale.

_[Next: The Forbidden Forest, Part 2]_


	10. The Forbidden Forest, Part 2

**The Forbidden Forest, Part 2**

Draco told Hermione his tale. "After you and Hagrid and Potter left, I was as frightened as I've ever been, Granger. Who wouldn't be? The Forbidden Forest at midnight. Ye gods. That's no place for an experienced wizard, let alone a pair of eleven-year-old kids. What was Hagrid thinking?

"Longbottom started crying as soon as you were out of sight. I gave him my handkerchief and told him to shut up.

"He asked me if I thought he was a coward. You'd have been proud of me, Granger, because I said no, he wasn't any more afraid than I was, he was just deuced loud about it. I told him that I'm not quiet when I'm scared, either. Not usually. I talk big, but it's mostly bluff. He calmed down after that.

"I didn't buck him up because I'm a wonderful human being. I'm not like you. I was afraid his blubbering would attract monsters.

"We saw drops of unicorn blood here and there. Not a lot, but the beast must have walked down the path after being wounded. The path was wide enough for us to walk side by side, but Longbottom kept taking the lead. I ended up in the middle; Fang brought up the rear.

"Then the drops of unicorn blood got closer together, sometimes in little pools. We grew more cautious and moved slower and slower.

"Fang wasn't happy, either. Every time we stopped, he stopped. Every time we started again, there was this pause before he started moving, too. His pauses got longer and longer. Hagrid said that nothing in the forest will hurt Fang, but Fang doesn't believe it.

"After a while it got to the point where moving forward felt like pushing through a brick wall. We'd take a few steps forward and just couldn't go any further. Then we'd stop and summon the courage for the next few steps. It was a nightmare.

"Eventually Longbottom told me he'd had enough and wanted to quit, but he didn't want to be called a coward.

"I told him I felt the same way. And I did! The situation was insane. My father would have a stroke if he knew about it. I'm the last of the Malfoys. I can't carry on the Malfoy line if I'm dead.

"We really couldn't go forward. What about going back? Say, to the fork in the path? Maybe up the other fork, to find Hagrid?

"The fact is, we had no idea where Hagrid was, or whether going back and taking the other fork would lead us to him or just get us lost in the forest.

"That left sending up red sparks. I told Longbottom we should do it. I asked him to point his wand skyward, ready for red sparks. I was standing behind him. Without warning, I roared like a monster and grabbed him by both shoulders and shook him, and the red sparks flew. They must have gone up a hundred feet!

"Then Longbottom turned around and told me exactly what he thought of me for playing such a nasty trick. We argued for a while in whispers, then went silent again. Then we sent up more red sparks.

"While we waited Hagrid to arrive, we practiced our lines. Longbottom is an even worse liar than you, Granger, so when Hagrid finally woke up from his nap, took his tea break, wallpapered his house, and strolled over to where we were waiting, I did most of the talking.

"I told Hagrid I'd been bored silly, so I snuck up on Longbottom as a joke. Hagrid believed every word. Can you imagine? Bored? Jokes? In the Forbidden Forest at night? The man needs a keeper.

"And he'd abandoned you and Potter! I couldn't believe it.

"After Hagrid led us back to where you were, I was paired with Potter, as you saw. I can see why you like him, Granger. I'm not blind; I'm not stupid. Potter is just as undersized as I am, but he doesn't seem to know it. He was frightened—he's not an idiot—but he wasn't scared out of his wits. His brain still worked, and he focused on getting the job done without blundering into anything lethal. He doesn't like me, but he didn't let it distract him.

"Like Longbottom, Potter wanted to take the lead. It was easier to keep moving this time. We didn't have to stop to summon our courage. I don't know why.

"We reached a point where the blood looked more and more like it had been flung from buckets onto the scenery. Looking back, I can't believe we kept going! But we did.

"Then we spotted the dead unicorn up ahead. It was so beautiful, Granger! I wish I could describe it to you. I don't have the words. Even torn and dead, I wanted to touch it so much! I can't even imagine what it looked like alive. Potter wanted to get closer, too. We crept forward with as much stealth as we could muster.

"Then this shadowy hooded figure crept up to the unicorn's body and started drinking its blood. I thought I'd been afraid before, but I was wrong. Just being near it was agony. And seeing it feed on the beautiful unicorn … that was obscene. If there's anything worse than evil, it was that. Then it raised its head and looked right at us. Fang turned around and bolted. I was right behind him.

"Potter yelled. I think I did, too. Fang kept running and was soon out of sight. I stopped and sent up red sparks. Hagrid couldn't possibly be close enough to hear our shouts.

"I hadn't run very far, but Potter didn't catch up. I tried to go back and look for him, Granger, I really did. I just didn't have the courage. The best I could do was to stay where I was and sent up more red sparks.

"I suppose the centaurs saw the sparks. After a while I heard hoof beats, and the next thing I knew, one of them galloped right past me with Potter on his back. I followed as fast as I could run, but it was my night for being left behind.

"After I couldn't run anymore, I walked. I was all alone in the Forbidden Forest. That hooded monster was close enough to grab me, for all I knew. About six lifetimes later, I reached the fork in the path, and there was Longbottom.

"I've never been so happy to see anyone in my life! It was mutual, I think. He was not at his best. His friends had all abandoned him in the Forbidden Forest, just when he needed them most. I know how _that_ feels! And he was in such a dither that he wasn't sure which path led back to Hogwarts.

"He'd lost my handkerchief, too, so I gave him my spare and told him he was an expensive man to know, but I was glad to see him anyway. Also, misery loves company, two wands are better than one, and I knew the way home. That cheered him up a bit.

"It made me wonder, though: Were we the only survivors? But I didn't share these thoughts with Longbottom.

"It didn't take long before we were out of the forest. Leaving those trees behind was a good feeling. I felt so much safer when we stepped into the open that it scared me. We wouldn't really be safe until we were inside the castle. We went to Hagrid's house first. Fang was there, but no Hagrid. As we stood there, wondering what to do next, Hagrid appeared. He was thunderstruck when he saw us. He'd forgotten all about us!

"Longbottom suddenly came out of his funk and started berating Hagrid in no uncertain terms, calling him negligent and murderous and incompetent and who knows what else. It was like watching a squirrel attacking a man and winning! I could have sold tickets.

"Hagrid was so flustered that he asked Longbottom what he could do to make it up to him. Longbottom didn't pause for an instant, but demanded that Hagrid swear that he'd never take another student into the Forbidden Forest at night. And Hagrid agreed!

"Then Hagrid turned to me and asked me what I wanted. I said that first I wanted to get to my bed in one piece, and I'd think about his question and give him my answer later. I want to talk to you about that, Granger. Not now, though. Tomorrow, I think. My head's still spinning.

"So Hagrid took us back to the main entrance. Longbottom was staggering by then, so I escorted him the rest of the way. The rest you know."

* * *

Hermione asked, "Is all of that true?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "I never lie to you, Granger. What would be the point? You'd see right through me." He looked her over for a moment and added, "Why do you ask?"

Hermione shook her head and smiled. "No reason." Draco was so obnoxious in public that his private kindnesses seemed out of character, even to her. But she should know better by now.

She asked, "Draco?"

"Wrong name _again,_ Granger. Are you sure you weren't hit on the head last night?"

"It happens when I think kind thoughts about you, Malfoy. It won't happen again."

"It had better not. I have a reputation to maintain."

"You do not!"

"That's what I mean!"

"Why did you scare Neville like that?"

"I didn't think he'd send up red sparks just because we'd agreed that we couldn't take any more. I wouldn't, would you? So he needed a push."

As so often with Draco, Hermione couldn't decide if he should be praised or blamed.

Draco went on, "So tell me your story. What happened when you were with Hagrid? And did Potter tell you what happened after Fang and I made our hasty retreat? And what did the centaurs say?"

"As for your first question, nothing happened with Hagrid except that he talked to a couple of centaurs who mostly said, 'Mars is bright tonight.' And the cloaked figure passed by on the trail. We hid behind a tree."

Draco shuddered.

"As for later, with Harry and the other centaurs … it's a secret, Malfoy. I can't tell you."

"Who swore you to secrecy?"

"It's not that, exactly. It overlaps some other secrets I'm sworn to keep. I can't tell you who I made the promise to."

He wagged an index finger at her. "You're a first-year student. Your parents are Muggles. It shouldn't be _possible_ for you to know any secrets!"

"I do, though."

"You're an overachiever, Granger. But it's a good look for you; I'll grant you that. And I shouldn't complain if I'm not the only one who relies on your … what's the word? … on your discretion. Have I told you today that I detest you?"

"Not in so many words," she said, smiling at his sudden avalanche of compliments.

He grew more serious. "I want to protect you, Granger. I want to help you. I need to."

"I know you do, Malfoy. You proved it last night. It's one of your most detestable features. And I'm grateful you looked out for Neville when no one else did."

"I owed him one."

"Even if you hadn't, you would have done it just the same."

"Don't go all mushy on me, Granger. If you have to keep your secrets, fine. I have secrets of my own. I wish I could tell you everything. I trust you more than anyone, and it would probably be better if I _did_ tell you everything. But I can't. I have a request for you, though."

"Go on," she said.

"Whenever you decide to do something that's dangerous or against the rules, don't do it alone. Not even if you think it's a piece of cake. Bring me or Potter along. Preferably me."

She smiled at him. "I think that can be arranged."

"Good."

"I thought you didn't like Harry."

"I don't! He despises me. He thinks I'm an idiot. I know I'm jealous, Granger. I'm not stupid. Potter has everything I want. He has you and Weasley, and you three look out for each other. I have Crabbe and Goyle—it's exactly like handing a pair of bricks to a drowning man. Potter's on the Quidditch team; I wasn't even allowed to try out. People have low expectations of him; they're so happy anytime he can do anything! I'm required to be the best at everything. He has Dumbledore looking out for him; I have Snape. He can do what he likes; no one at home cares what he does. My father hears everything and sends me instructions. I get them all the time. He hasn't praised me once. Everything I do is wrong. But everyone smiles at Potter. It makes me feel so small!"

Draco paused, then shook his head. "Sorry. I didn't mean to whine. Potter's brave and he listens to you. That's what matters. Take him with you as backup if I'm not around. Please?"

Hermione took his hand. "I will. Thank you, Malfoy."

He nodded and took a moment to pull himself together. In a lighter tone, he said, "Father would like me to be friends with Potter, by the way, so that part's all right. Maybe Potter can work past his ridiculous prejudices some day. You did."

"It must have been a spell, Malfoy. We skipped all the middle steps."

To her surprise, he shook his head violently. "No! It can't be a spell. It has to last forever! Granger, please …" He turned his head away. Without looking at her, he said, "Promise me … promise that if it ever fades away, you'll find a way to bring it back."

Blinking back tears, she whispered, "I promise. I want it to last as much as you do."

He recovered quickly. He turned to face her. "You're not bad for a girl."

"And as a member of the unfair sex, you stand alone, Malfoy."

They sat in silence for a while, then he asked, "Are you all set for your exams?"

"More or less," she said. "You?"

Draco looked troubled. "Father demands that I receive the highest marks of any of the first-years. I know I'll come in second."

"Really?"

"Yes. I'd like to claim that I'd come in third if we hadn't studied together, but no one will believe that."

"Who will come in third?"

"No idea. You'll be at the top of the list, I'll be close behind, and everyone else will be far, far below us, battling it out for last place."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're sweet, Malfoy?"

"Never."

"Guess why."

He laughed. "Let's talk about the summer. Malfoy Manor is in Wiltshire; Malfoy House is in London. I'll no doubt spend part of the summer in each place. Where the devil do you live, Granger?"

"Norwich."

He made a face. "Just my luck. How often can you make it to London?"

"A few times. More if I give my parents a reason they can understand."

"Like what?"

"Mum, dad, there's this boy…"

He looked delighted, horrified, and ready to burst into tears at the same time. Then he shook his head. "Too dangerous. Last resort. Father hears things. With Father, you can only be my clever little study partner, if that. Once you're that, it follows that you're one of my little friends. But I haven't told him anything yet. Would my being your clever little study partner work with your parents?"

"I think so. Not in those terms. You can be the classmate who's willing to study intensively with me over the summer. They'll understand that."

"Let's go find Madam Pince and look at the maps that show how to go back and forth between Muggle London and magical London."

"I know about Diagon Alley."

"Yes, you can get to Malfoy House that way, but it's a long walk, and at least a hundred people will see you and your one-of-a-kind hairdo. We can do better."

"All right. And, Malfoy?"

"Hmm?"

"You knew the Gryffindor password."

"Every time it changes, you Gryffindors bellow it to each other during meals."

"Oh. I'll pass the word. Let's go look at those maps, then. I'm curious."

_[Next: The Hidden Door]_


	11. The Hidden Door

**The Hidden Door**

Hermione and Draco were sitting in the window seat of their nook, talking quietly about nothing in particular, sometimes making up new insults just to have something to say.

The school year was almost over. Harry Potter was lying unconscious in the hospital wing, but Madam Pomfrey and Headmaster Dumbledore had both announced that they expected him to awaken within hours and make a full recovery in a day or so. Hermione and Ron had agreed that they'd see him today even if they had to use Harry's invisibility cloak.

Gryffindor had lost the last Quidditch match of the season to Ravenclaw. Their substitute Seeker hadn't even seen the Golden Snitch before the Ravenclaw Seeker had captured it. With the loss of the game, Slytherin was certain to win the House Cup.

They talked about their plans for the summer. Since both Draco's and Hermione's parents would be in London to pick them up from the Hogwarts Express, and Draco's parents rarely came to London without spending at least a few days (and sometimes several weeks), they figured they could probably meet on the sly the very next day. An unobtrusive gate just three blocks from Malfoy House opened on a quiet side street in Muggle London. Hermione had asked her parents to stay in a hotel in that same neighborhood. She hadn't told them why, but was on fire to introduce Draco to them.

Draco had no intention of reciprocating by introducing Hermione to his parents—not until he knew more about their mood and plans. As always, he mentioned only his father, as if his mother did not exist. Hermione had learned better than to ask about such things. He tended to become either angry or sad when his family was mentioned unless he raised the topic himself. He'd tell her when he was ready.

Somehow they got onto the subject of fairy tales and discovered that neither had ever heard the other's favorites. Hermione was just launching into _The Three Billy Goats Gruff _when she looked up and saw Professor Dumbledore smiling down at them.

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy," he said. As they started to rise, he added, "Please, remain seated."

They gazed at him in silence, embarrassed. Hermione was painfully aware that she was holding Draco's hand.

"Have you ever wondered," asked Dumbledore pleasantly, "why so few people venture into this part of the library, and even fewer seem able to see you?"

"I have, actually," said Hermione, relaxing.

"Around two hundred years ago, a fire damaged this section of the library. It was a small fire and destroyed only a few books, but the area needed remodeling. A powerful, wealthy, and rather subtle witch named Esmeralda Valentine took charge and added some characteristic touches.

"I've always felt that this window seat is her masterpiece. Only a young person in love finds spending time here pleasant. And two people cannot share the window seat unless they are in love with each other. To anyone else, the seat is uncomfortable. When the seat was more widely known, people would sit here on a dare. The record stands at five seconds.

"But the most important feature is that, once accepted, a person can return here. Then memories and feelings from their earlier visits are as clear as if they happened only yesterday.

"From time to time you may see an older person sitting here, quite alone. I suggest you give them their privacy. On the other hand, people for whom the window seat is not appropriate rarely venture into this part of the library at all."

"Professor Snape saw us here," said Draco.

"Yes, and he asked me to keep an eye on you two. He feels your path will not be easy, and I must say I agree with him."

"Who did he love?" asked Hermione.

"Alas, Miss Granger, that is not my secret to tell. But I will tell you this, though perhaps I shouldn't, because it will help you understand. When he was a boy at Hogwarts, Severus Snape found this nook and sat here many times. But he always sat alone. The great love of his life did not love him back, and eventually she loved and married another. She is dead now. Severus returns here from time to time, and remembers."

Hermione's eyes filled with tears. Not so much for Snape, because she couldn't imagine Snape as a boy, let alone as a boy in love. But somehow her imagination gave her a clear image of the mischievous, sensitive boy Albus Dumbledore had been, and she felt the pain of the love he had lost so long ago.

"Yes, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore in his slow, unhurried voice. "I, too, was once a student who sat here with my beloved. We were very young, though not so young as you, and like you and Mr. Malfoy, we got the top marks in all our classes. His name was Archie. (Don't look so startled, Mr. Malfoy! Ask Miss Granger to explain it to you later.)

"He had the most amazing way with animals, especially dragons. He could calm up to three at once using only his voice. He had the most wonderful voice. In the summer after our sixth year, he was doing field work. He encountered five dragons unexpectedly and was killed. It was just as simple and pointless as that. He is forgotten now; it has been nearly a century. But sometimes I sit here and remember my first and best love, and it's as if no time has passed at all."

Hermione was weeping. Draco had an arm around her. He looked up at Dumbledore and asked, "Can you help us, sir?"

"A little, Mr. Malfoy. A little. Come along, both of you. I have something to show you." He turned and walked off. They followed, Hermione weeping silently into her handkerchief.

A short distance away was a row of doors. Most had bronze plaques marked "PRIVATE." The others bore names that Hermione did not recognize.

Dumbledore touched the lock of of a door marked "PRIVATE" with his wand and the door swung open. Candles lit inside, revealing a study room with a desk, two chairs, and a bookcase. Dumbledore looked it over briefly and said, "This will do nicely." He tapped the bronze plaque on the door with his wand. The letters squirmed, and then the plaque read, "H. GRANGER." He pulled a key out of his robe, touched it to his wand, and handed it to Hermione.

"And now you, Mr. Malfoy." He had Hermione lock her study room and led them down several short corridors to another row of study rooms. Soon Draco had a key of his own and a room marked, "D. MALFOY."

Inside Malfoy's room, Dumbledore said, "Touch your key to the back wall. Anywhere will do." Draco did so, and a blank patch of wall suddenly showed an outline the size of a low, narrow door. Draco put has palm against it and pressed, and the concealed door swung open. On the other side was Hermione's study room.

Draco asked, "What kind of spell connects these rooms?"

"No spell," said Dumbledore, "Geometry. The rooms are back to back, but it's hard to realize this because the two corridors connect by a roundabout path. Professor Valentine's work, of course."

Dumbledore continued, "These rooms have been the scene of secret diplomacy and surreptitious collaboration many times over the years. And a great deal of ordinary scholarship. Professor Valentine, though sentimental, was a true scholar. Most room assignments are to students, visiting professors, and other scholars who have no idea that the hidden doors exist, and whose keys will not reveal them.

"By the way, these rooms are assigned for life. Sometimes they are assigned to students who achieve unusually high exam scores, which, I tell you in confidence, includes both of you."

"If you two were older, I would admonish you not to use these study rooms as places of revelry. But I will save that lecture for another time.

"And now, my young friends, is there anything else I can do for you?"

Draco asked, "Is there any hope for us, sir?"

"Yes, my boy, there is always hope. Your path was never going to be easy. It will not be easy now. But you may find a better destination and a more bearable journey.

"Let me offer you some personal advice: Love is powerful, with a magic all its own. In addition, when properly applied, incompetence and procrastination are also powerful, sometimes almost as powerful as love. Resist the temptation to rush to your doom. If Romeo had been unable to uncork his bottle of poison, if his dagger had been dull, both he and Juliet would have survived. When doing something foolish or wrong, always apply as much delay and incompetence as you dare. Miss Granger may find this technique difficult. As a Gryffindor, she has a troublesome streak of directness. It took me many years to overcome mine. Teach her as best you can."

"I will, sir," said Draco with a slight smile.

Hermione asked, "Are we under some kind of love spell? There must have been one at first."

"I'm sure you are right, Miss Granger. Love magic never creates love, of course, only obsession. But anything that causes two people to really notice each other can lead to love, if they are the right two people.

"The window seat cannot be fooled by love magic. The experiment has been tried many times. Professor Valentine had no patience with imitation love. You can be confident that your love is both real and precious."

Hermione asked, "Who could have done it?"

"If neither of you were involved in the magic (and I see from your faces that you were not), I would guess that it was the Siberian love potion. Perhaps administered as a practical joke. As for who, I can't seem to think of any practical jokers who have both the unwisdom to try and the skill to succeed."

Hermione breathed, "The Weasley twins."

"Quite possibly. Mr. Malfoy, I want you to understand that I have taken you under my wing on your own merits, not simply because Miss Granger loves you, ample testimonial though that is. You can always call on me for assistance. As can you, Miss Granger."

He smiled at them again and said, "Farewell for now, my young friends. I believe I will visit the window seat. It has been quite a while. Archie has been very patient."

He departed, closing the door behind him. Draco stood like a statue until Hermione asked, "What's wrong?"

In a dull voice, Draco said, "Is he trying to bribe me? To set me against my father?"

"Why would he do that?"

"My father hates him. Says he's the worst headmaster in Hogwarts history."

"But … wait, that can't be right, can it? You're here! Your father sent the last of the Malfoys to Hogwarts! He knew Dumbledore was headmaster. Your father's friends send their children here, too. So it can't be _that_ bad. Think logically, Malfoy! It can't be a real feud at all. It has to be more like a rivalry. Or a tiff. Maybe just a snit."

He considered this. "So it's not a bribe when I'm given a study room with a secret passage to my girlfriend?"

"You called me your girlfriend!"

"My mistake. I meant to call you—" But he couldn't continue because she was kissing him.

A moment later, she said, "Issued for life, Malfoy. He said the rooms are issued for life."

"I heard. And Snape asked him to look after us," said Draco. "Not just me. Us."

"I heard that, too," said Hermione.

They considered this for a while. Finally, Draco said, "There's a lot about Hogwarts that we haven't been told; that we don't understand. Let's not rush into anything. We'll just keep doing what's expected of us and see what happens."

Hermione smiled at him, "Very scientific of you, Malfoy. And let's both make sure that the corks in our bottles of poison can't be removed and that our daggers are as dull as loaves of bread."

"I don't know, some of that flatbread has quite an edge."

"As dull as bowling balls, then. Or Goyle."

"Bowling balls. Agreed. Nothing's as dull as Goyle. Let's not ask for the impossible."

* * *

The last days of the term passed in a rush. Hermione and Ron waited in the hospital wing until Harry was awake, then fretted when Dumbledore made them wait some more while he talked to Harry first. But they got to see him at last, and spent much of the following day with him, too. He told them over and over what had happened with You-Know-Who, and what Dumbledore had told him.

Hermione found herself on the point of revealing her own secret several times. After all, if Dumbledore approved, it was all right, wasn't it? But she stopped herself each time. She was so happy today, almost giddy, that she might make any kind of foolish mistake. That wouldn't be fair to Draco.

Harry was released just in time to attend the end-of-year feast. He sat between Ron and Hermione. They kept grinning at each other, delighted to be together again.

Draco was sitting between Crabbe and Goyle at the Slytherin table. They were a bad influence on him, Hermione decided. He seemed more Crabbe-like and Goyle-like when he was with them. They didn't seem any more Malfoy-like. If Draco's father realized this, would he take steps to separate them? Now, there was a thought …

Professor Dumbledore awarded last-minute points to Gryffindor, including fifty points to Hermione, "for the use of cool logic in the face of fire." Hermione didn't feel cool and logical at all, but burst into tears. Being praised by Dumbledore in front of the whole school overwhelmed her. She buried her face in her arms.

The points awarded to Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville meant that Gryffindor won the house cup! This came as a complete surprise to everyone. All the Gryffindors were jubilant and many went out of the way to praise and congratulate Hermione. She had never been very popular among the Gryffindors, and their sudden good feelings nearly overwhelmed her again.

Her heart went out to Draco. Slytherin's loss not only disappointed him personally, but it robbed him of a ray of sunshine to offer to his father. Worse, Gryffindor had won by just ten points. Had Draco not been penalized twenty points for sneaking out to see Norbert the baby dragon that night, Slytherin would have won. He'd find his lapse hard to explain.

Then the exam results were posted. She was so proud of Draco! He had done spectacularly well, matching the all-time record for first-year students, a record that had stood unchallenged for more than fifty years.

Hermione had done even better, just as Draco had predicted, besting Draco in every subject, even Potions, and setting a new record that everyone said would last forever. Hermione Granger would be remembered long after the previous record holder, Tom Riddle, was forgotten.

Draco's other prediction also came true: no first-year even came close to their performance. But that was all right. Harry, Ron, and Neville had all passed. All the Gryffindors had. Sadly, so had Crabbe and Goyle.

And then it was time to leave for the summer holidays. Hermione hardly got a glance at Draco on the little boats. She didn't see him at all on the Hogwarts Express or at the Kings Cross Station. It was just as well, because she was overflowing with happiness and didn't think she could treat him as coldly as she was supposed to.

At Kings Cross Station, she left the train with Harry and Ron. As they walked towards the gate, Ron delighted them by asking them to visit over the summer. She and Harry accepted at once. It was going to be the best summer ever.

And then she met Ron's mother and his little sister, Ginny. She liked them at once. Ron's family was delightful! This was followed immediately by the appearance of Harry's Uncle Vernon, looking angry. His wife and son trailed in his wake, looking frightened. Were they always that way around Uncle Vernon? That wasn't right! Poor Harry.

Soon after Harry and Ron and their families departed, Hermione caught sight of her own parents. She ran to them. They looked so proud! After hugs all around, all three of them began talking at once. Their confused, joyful, familiar babble lasted until they were all in the car.

Her father said, "We're booked into a hotel near the spot you mentioned. What's it all about?"

This completed Hermione's happiness. With luck, she'd see Draco tomorrow morning, just as they'd planned!

She knew Draco wouldn't approve, but she couldn't help herself. She took a deep breath and said earnestly, "Mum, dad, there's this boy …"

_[Next: London (Chamber of Secrets)]_


	12. London (Chamber of Secrets)

Hermione found the gate between Muggle London and one of its magical enclaves. It was a simple wrought-iron pedestrian gate on a side street, opening into a small park. The gate was locked but the latch clicked when she said the password, "_patefacio."_ She entered the park, closing the gate behind her. She hadn't gone more than a few steps before she saw Draco Malfoy sitting on a bench, wearing the Muggle clothing he presumably wore when using Platform 9 3/4. Unlike many wizarding folk, he didn't look like he'd put on someone else's clothing in the dark, though he could use a few pointers.

Draco saw her. He closed the book he was reading, letting her see the cover. She smiled. It was _Conflict Resolution for Your Pre-Teen._ That brought back memories.

It was late June. They were both twelve years old. Just yesterday they had stepped off the Hogwarts Express in London to begin their summer holidays.

He stood. "Hi," he whispered. "Let's get out of here. No talking."

She nodded. He slouched to the gate, hands in pockets. She followed. He straightened up after a couple of blocks. She said, "We're going the wrong way."

"Good. You can take the lead now. No backtracking."

They arrived at the hotel a few minutes later. As they entered the lobby, Hermione asked, "Any last requests?"

Draco smiled. "Breakfast would be nice."

"We'll feed you after you meet my parents."

"What have you told them, Granger?"

"Not much. You're the kind of shock that can't be softened."

"Harsh. You're getting better at this all the time."

"Thank you." They reached the lift. Hermione gestured to the call button and said, "This is a lift."

"And over there we have a potted plant. Are we playing the 'name something in the room' game?"

"Sorry."

"I've used both lifts and escalators, I'll have you know. One of each. We went to a department store to buy these stylish clothes."

"Your first shopping trip in Muggle London?" asked Hermione as she stepped into the lift and pressed the button for the third floor.

"Yes. It was fun. Though Mother refused to let me throw handfuls of change at the locals or make them kneel before me."

"Poor Malfoy." They reached their floor and stepped into the hallway. She added, "Just behave, all right?"

Draco said, "I'll follow your lead. When you spit on the floor, I spit on the floor."

"Eww! You're the worst person ever."

_"You're_ the worst person ever. That night you lost fifty points, I only lost twenty. You're thirty points worse than me."

"At least I don't— Oh. Hi, Mum. Hi, Dad."

They'd practically barged into Hermione's parents in the hallway. Both her parents were trying not to laugh. Hermione could feel herself blushing.

Draco recovered first. In his most insufferable drawl, he said, "Mum, Dad, I'd like you to meet my friend, Hermione Granger."

"Malfoy!" said Hermione.

Her father said, "We've met."

Hermione sighed and said, "Allow me to introduce Draco Malfoy." She glared at Draco. "You know, the … _person_ I've been talking about."

Her father shook Draco's hand. "Wendell Granger."

Her mother shook Draco's hand and said, "Monica. Shall we go down to breakfast?"

Draco looked at Hermione, letting her take the lead. She tried to glare at him again but they smiled at each other instead. She said, "Yes, let's."

The restaurant was almost empty, so they could talk freely. Draco set down his menu without looking at it and whispered to Hermione, "You're ordering for both of us."

Hermione whispered, "Malfoy! We've never eaten a meal together! I don't know what you like!" She looked anxiously through the menu for something he was sure to love—or hate.

Her father asked Draco, "Are you friends with Harry Potter?"

Draco shook his head. "None of Granger's friends can stand me."

Her mother asked Hermione, "That can't be true, can it, dear?"

"It's true," said Hermione glumly. She set down her menu and told Draco, "Belgian waffles."

The waitress arrived and took their orders. When they were alone again, Draco said told Hermione's parents, "I'm on the wrong sides of two rivalries. One is between Slytherin House and Gryffindor House. The other is between my father and Ronald Weasley's father. So it's an uphill battle."

"That was very good!" said Hermione.

"Thank you."

Her mother asked, "Do your friends give you a hard time for liking Draco?"

"They don't know. It's a secret."

"For how long?"

"Almost the whole school year."

Her mother blinked. "You don't worship each other from afar, do you?"

Draco opened his mouth, probably to say, "Not far enough," but Hermione glared at him and he closed his mouth again.

Hermione said, "Mostly we study together in a quiet corner of the library. Nobody goes there."

Their food arrived and conversation lagged for a while. Draco enjoyed his Belgian waffles. When their plates were cleared away, Hermione's mother asked, "What would you two like to do today?"

Draco looked enquiringly at Hermione, who said, "I'd like to take Malfoy shopping."

Her father asked, "Why do you call each other by your last names?"

"So people won't know we're friends," said Hermione. "That's why all the insults, too." She felt herself blushing.

"It's adorable," said her mother.

Draco became serious and said, "We're careful. My parents don't know, either. We're one of those ancient pure-blood families. I'm not supposed to associate with Muggle-borns, especially girls."

Hermione's father raised his eyebrows, but it was her mother who asked him, "And what do you think, dear?"

Draco said, "Hermione is an exception. Possibly the first one ever."

Hermione said, "That's excellent!"

"I knew you'd like it."

Her father agreed. "Clever. It sidesteps a long-running debate and goes straight for the answer you want."

Her mother said, "But some arguments against Muggle-borns are cultural. Maybe we should hint that someone was mentoring Hermione at home." She turned to Draco, "Did she have trouble adjusting to Hogwarts?"

Draco said "Not really, except her horrible taste in friends."

Hermione said, "You're not _that_ bad."

"I meant Potter and Weasley. But other than that, you did fine. You won a lot of points for your house and got terrific exam scores."

"You did those things, too."

"Then we're both well-adjusted. Especially me."

Her father said, smiling, "You two can keep this up all day, can't you?"

"I can," said Draco. "She's useless."

"What?" asked Hermione incredulously. Her father held up a hand and she subsided.

Draco took the opportunity to tell him, "You seem to know a lot about the wizarding world."

Her father replied, "We read everything the outreach department of the Ministry of Magic had to offer, of course, before term started. Then we did some serious research. And we subscribe to the _Daily Prophet_."

Draco told Hermione, "They take after you, don't they?"

Ignoring this, Hermione asked her father, "Do you have an owl I don't know about?"

"There's a mail-drop system that uses the Royal Mail to deliver wizard mail to ordinary street addresses. It works in the other direction too, though not as well."

"I've never heard of it," said Hermione.

"It's not as well-known as it should be. I'll show you two how to use it."

Her mother cut in, "But all that aside, yes, we've heard how much trouble a pure-blood son can be in for having a Muggle-born girlfriend. (I hope that's the right term.) What can we do to help you, Draco?"

Draco's expression had softened. Hermione's parents had acknowledged that she was his girlfriend! He wasn't prepared for this much acceptance. That's probably why he'd been playing the "lovable rascal" card so relentlessly. Now he was off-balance. Her parents would have him in tears if they weren't careful.

Hermione said, "Maybe we should go upstairs now." Hermione took Draco to her room for a few minutes of privacy. As soon as the door was closed, she put her arms around him, but he did not respond.

"Draco, wake up!"

He sighed and pulled her in closer. "Why are they being so nice to me, Hermione? It doesn't make sense. They shouldn't be doing this. I smell a rat."

Hermione rolled her eyes, pulled away from his embrace, and picked a folded sheet of parchment off the table. "Read this."

* * *

From the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Granger—

I recommend Hogwarts student Draco Malfoy to you and most earnestly request that you give him every assistance.

Yours most sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

* * *

Draco read it through twice and asked, "What do you think it means?"

She said, "My parents see two messages. First, welcome you with open arms." She put her arms around him by way of illustration. "Second, something bad will happen soon and you need friends. That's the 'every assistance' part. Third, maybe, it's time for you to learn to pass as a Muggle."

After a moment Draco said, "That seems right. Hermione, is Dumbledore setting me against my father?"

"Nobody thinks you're a pawn to be sacrificed, Draco. Not me, not your father, not Dumbledore. Especially not during the opening moves. You're endgame material. Everyone knows it." Just last week she had played in a life-or-death game of wizard chess, so this was more than a metaphor to her. But what she said felt right.

It must have felt right to Draco, too, for he relaxed with a sigh, the tension leaving his body. He pulled her in closer and whispered, "That helped. I love you, Hermione."

She gasped. "You said it!" She began to cry.

He murmured, "Shh, everything's all right. Sometimes it's not hard to say." In the same tone he continued, "So go ahead and get yourself all red-eyed and tear-stained for your parents and then everything will be perfect."

She smiled through her tears. "You really are the worst, Draco. I love you, too." She dried her tears. Then, taking his hand, they rejoined her parents, where they planned out the rest of the day.

Hermione brandished some lists that she and her parents had drawn up the previous evening, but didn't she didn't want him to read them. "We want to surprise you," she said.

They started with their list of a complete Muggle wardrobe, including caps and sunglasses to make him less identifiable and a student backpack and a gym bag to pack it all into.

Hermione expected Draco to remain on his best behavior (for him). This illusion was soon shattered in the boy's section of the department store. Hermione was almost desperate to select his clothing for him. She hadn't grasped that he wanted to look the same age as her. This wasn't easy: Hermione was almost a year older and Draco was small for his age. She kept offering him items that would make him look like her cute little brother. Soon they were bickering in frustrated confusion. Fortunately, her parents were nowhere in sight.

When Hermione argued with Ron or Harry, the confrontation soon ended with one of them stomping off or lapsing into stubborn silence. With Draco, an argument could last forever. Hermione found herself close to tears. Finally she said, "Malfoy?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm sad."

He looked startled, then said behind his hand, "You know, there's a tiny chance we're doing this wrong."

"I'm doing the best I can."

"Well, stop it! Pick out something hideous and I'll tell you why I love it."

They started laughing again almost at once. Draco picked out items he hated on the grounds that they'd made him look like Hermione's little brother—or sister—and she quickly understood. Soon they'd polished off most of the list. "What's left?" he asked.

She look at the list. "Underwear and pajamas," she said, looking at him nervously.

"Lead on."

The startling lack of variety in the boy's underwear and pajamas made these selections less contentious (and less interesting) than she expected.

He made a couple of jokes about selecting "negligibles" for her, but made no move towards the girl's section. She whispered to him that she needed to do so soon, since her proportions had altered in recent months. He surprised her by whispering back that puberty looked good on her. His eyes smiled as he said it, and his eyes didn't know how to lie. It left her feeling odd, but in a good way.

They found Hermione's parents and they all left the store in high spirits.

A stationery store provided Draco with supplies, including ballpoint and rollerball pens and stationery suitable for the Owl post/Royal Mail system. Hermione loved office supplies and would have bought him more than he could carry if she hadn't been restrained by her parents.

They returned to the hotel with their purchases. After lunch they pulled out yet another list and taught Draco to use a telephone, including pay phones. This involved a quick lesson in British currency. He was also told how to reverse the charges.

List number four involved a roundabout trip by bus and the London Underground to familiarize him with that part of the transportation system.

Before they knew it, it was time for Draco to go. Draco went to Hermione's room to pack his new possessions, and they held each other for a long time. Then she walked him to the gate. Someone might be watching, so they parted casually, as if it didn't hurt at all.

She walked back to the hotel alone. The sun was still up on this long summer day, but her parents would be ready for dinner.

She was surprised by how happy she was. She was certain something bad would happen soon; maybe to Draco, maybe to Hogwarts. But they would be ready, and they had the best friends in the world, including Professor Dumbledore himself. Nothing too disastrous could happen while he was at Hogwarts.

* * *

The next morning Hermione met Draco in the little park just as before. He had his backpack with him. When they were a couple of blocks from the gate, he pulled out a cap and sunglasses and put them on.

She asked, "Can you still spend the whole day with us?"

"Yes, but tomorrow we're going to Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire. Too bad. I was hoping for a third day with you."

"Me, too."

Once more the day went by far too quickly. Hermione and Draco learned how to use the mail drop in both directions and Draco was given a lesson in sending ordinary Muggle letters as well. Her parents supplied him with stamps and lists of addresses, plus a surprising amount of cash in all denominations.

Alone for a few minutes, Draco told her that he gave her parents high marks, but he wanted to keep them out of the line of fire. "If I ever go into hiding," he said, "it won't be at your house."

Hermione agreed at once. Her parents had many talents, but surviving a wizard's feud on their doorstep was not among them.

After lunch, they went to the British Museum. As Hermione had expected, Draco had never been there before and wanted to see everything at once. He plunged excitedly into one section after another, stopping here and there when he became fascinated by an exhibit, sometimes just for a moment but once for nearly an hour. They followed him tolerantly.

Then they had an early dinner, went back to the hotel, and suddenly it was time for Draco to leave. Hermione managed not to cry when they said good-bye in her room, then she walked him to the gate as before.

When Hermione returned to the hotel, her mother knocked on her door and Hermione let her in. Her mother hugged her and Hermione broke down and wept.

"I don't know why I'm crying," she sobbed. "I've never been so happy."

Her mother said, "He tries so hard to hide it, but he's a sad and lonely boy. And then his face lights up when he thinks of you. I'm glad you love him, Hermione. Someone has to. And not many people would be up to it."

"Aren't you afraid?" asked Hermione. "Terrible things happened at Hogwarts just last week!"

"Well, that's true. But what do you think would have happened if you hadn't received that letter and you had gone to an ordinary school?"

Hermione tried to remember. "Oh. I'd be at the top of my class but I'd be bored and miserable because the subjects were too easy. I'd have no friends at all. And my magic would be stronger. Dreadful things would happen around me more and more. None of us would know why."

"There's fear for you! Your father and I were never so relieved as when you got the invitation to Hogwarts. Suddenly it made a little sense; there was a way forward. And yes, there was real danger at Hogwarts. But, Hermione, did you have any dreams that _haven't_ come true?"

"Oh! I hadn't noticed."

"You were busy."

* * *

Hermione's bedroom at home seemed familiar and strange at the same time. She put away the contents of her trunk and the new purchases from London, opened the window to let in some fresh air, then stretched out on the bed wondering what to do next. Before she could make up her mind, an owl delivered a letter.

* * *

To: Hermione Granger

From: Draco Malfoy, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire

Date: June 17, 1992

Dear Granger,

And now the game begins.

Father was just notified that he's appointed to the governing board of Hogwarts. There are twelve governors, you know, and he's just one of the twelve. Father never accepts appointments to be just one of anything. He's the top man or he doesn't join. Not this time!

He told me that it's part of his plan. I asked, "What plan?" but he wouldn't tell me.

He said some nasty things about Dumbledore again, including the one about him being the worst headmaster in Hogwarts history. (I find this hard to believe. Didn't one of them spent his whole time as headmaster in a straitjacket?)

Does this mean that Father will be in and out of Hogwarts all year? I hope not. I don't remember seeing any visitors at Hogwarts, do you?

I detest you, Granger. I miss talking to you already. And I'm in low spirits: of course I am. I may just call you on the telephone. Remind me, do you have an answering machine? I'm not sure I understand what those are about. Don't laugh too hard if I try to leave a message.

Your one and only

Malfoy

P.S. Father asked what happened to Quirrell. I told him the rumors that were going around, which amounted to, "Harry Potter killed him, or maybe Dumbledore killed him when he was busy killing Harry Potter." I left your name, Weasley's, and Longbottom's out of it, though I don't suppose the three of you got all those points for nothing. I'm glad now that you haven't told me what really happened, since that made it easier for me to seem ignorant. It's probably safe to tell me now.

P.P.S. Father asked me if I knew anything about Weasley's little sister, who might be a first-year in September. Weasley has a little sister? But why would Father care?


	13. The Burrow

It was late afternoon on a Thursday in late June when Hermione stepped off her bus, which was late. In one hand she held an overnight bag. In the other she held a heavy suitcase. She could barely lift it. It held nothing but books; enough for several days.

She looked around at the village of Ottery St. Catchpole. The first thing she noticed was a dog sleeping peacefully in the middle of the empty street. Then she heard a squeal of motherly joy.

"Hermione, dear!" called Mrs. Weasley, as she rushed forward and gave Hermione a hug.

Hermione blushed. She caught sight of Ron grinning at her and his little sister Ginny smiling shyly.

Then Fred and George appeared as if out of thin air and relieved her of her bags. George pretended that he was unable to life her heavy suitcase in spite of increasingly desperate efforts. "What did you bring, Hermione? An anvil?"

Fred said, "Brilliant! We can drop it on people's heads!"

Mrs. Weasley asked, "Did you really make this whole trip all by yourself?"

"I'm twelve years old!" said Hermione indignantly.

"Wasn't it complicated?"

"Well, a bit. Two buses, two trains, and the Underground."

Mrs. Weasley asked, "Are you ready to go, dear, or do you need to freshen up first?"

Hermione walked a few yards to post two letters and declared herself ready, then they were on their way, walking out of the village with Fred and George bickering over the honor of carrying her heavy suitcase with its alleged anvil. Ron walked on her right side and talked constantly but somewhat at random, while Ginny walked on her left and said nothing, though she looked like she wanted to.

The Weasley home was called the Burrow, but it wasn't a burrow at all. Ron explained that it had started out as a stone structure, but had been built up and out several times, largely with salvaged structures, and now it looked like several small houses that had been dropped gently next to one another—or in some cases on top of one another.

Hermione was a bit shocked by the general theme of cheerful disorder, or perhaps "chaos" was the right word, and by the way that everyone but Ron seemed to take satisfaction in the place. Ron was clearly worried that she'd disapprove.

"I've never been in a wizarding home before," she confessed to Ron. "I've never even read about it. I'll have a lot of questions." Ron perked up at this.

Fred, who had heard, said, "Don't worry. We'll advise you."

George said, "That's right! You can count on us."

Mrs. Weasley said, "I don't have to warn you about Fred and George, do I, dear?" Turning her attention to the twins, she said, "There will be no pranks and no lying to Hermione, you understand? Or your father will punish what's left of you."

They reached the house and went right in. "You're staying with me," said Ginny. "I'll show you." She took Hermione's hand and practically dragged her up the narrow, rambling stairs.

Ginny was only slightly ahead of the pack. Ron followed, complaining that Hermione was _his_ guest. Fred and George were right behind with Hermione's luggage. Soon they all crowded into Ginny's room. The boys left after Ginny ordered them out for the second time, departing in slow motion to annoy her.

Ginny closed and bolted the door, then sighed theatrically. "Boys."

"You don't like boys?"

Ginny grinned and sighed theatrically once more. "Brothers."

Hermione said, "Six brothers! How do you cope?"

"It's not so bad. You're at school with four of them, how bad was it for you?"

"They're all right. Ron's a good friend."

"And you're friends with Harry Potter, too?"

"That's right."

"Are you his girlfriend?"

Hermione was surprised. She'd never thought of Harry as boyfriend material for anyone, let alone her. "He doesn't have a girlfriend."

"Good." Ginny blushed and asked, "Can you keep a secret?"

"You'd be amazed."

She almost squealed, "I have a crush on him!"

Hermione groped for an appropriate response, but she needn't have bothered. Ginny launched into a stream of rapturous (if inaccurate) talk about Harry. She asked Hermione a lot of questions, but was so keyed up that she often started talking again before Hermione could answer. This stream of one-way talk was interrupted only when Ron pounded on the door to ask if they were ever coming out.

Ron gave Hermione the grand tour of the house, except for Percy's room. Percy called through the door that he was busy and he'd see them at dinner.

The house was literally indescribable. It was cluttered and haphazard and none too clean, but every room contained more objects of interest than could be taken in at a glance, and the house had an atmosphere of good-natured busyness and not enough space to accommodate the residents' varied interests.

The tour continued outside: the garage, the broom shed, and a few smaller buildings. There was a back garden, sadly gnome-infested (or so she was told), but before Hermione could inquire further, she and Ginny were called into the kitchen to help.

The kitchen seemed smaller than it really was because it was dominated by a wooden table large enough to seat a dozen people. Mrs. Weasley was cooking a large if fairly simple dinner on what looked like a wood-burning range. She used magic for almost everything. In one corner, a knife was peeling potatoes by itself. A pot on the stove was being stirred as if by an invisible hand.

There wasn't actually that much for the girls to do, but Hermione filled the time between tasks by asking questions; mostly about what was happening in the kitchen, but about other things, too.

"Are you going to Hogwarts this year, Ginny?" she asked.

Ginny said that the official letters weren't sent out until the last week in July, but she was on the list: her father had checked.

Hermione said, "I hope the Sorting Hat puts you in Gryffindor."

"Me, too." She smiled shyly at Hermione, who realized that Harry Potter was the main attraction of Gryffindor, not her four brothers.

Mr. Weasley arrived home after that. He was an enthusiastic, balding man with red hair and just as much energy as the twins. He spoke no louder than necessary, which meant that he often spoke in a cheerful bellow, since the whole family tended to talk at once.

At dinner, Mr. Weasley insisted that Hermione sit next to him so he could ask her with questions about Muggles, most of which Hermione found rather odd, as if he'd learned his Muggle lore from people who didn't understand Muggles. Ron sat on her other side after a brief struggle with Ginny. Percy finally made an appearance.

After dinner, Ron pulled out a wizard chess set and they played while Ginny and George watched. Ron was well on his way to beating her when he looked at her face and said, "What?"

"I was just thinking of the last game we played," said Hermione. You had that same look on your face. It made me feel safe. But we were on the same side that time!"

Ron moved his bishop. "Check."

He checkmated her three moves later.

Just then an owl flew in an open window, dropped a letter in front of Hermione, and flew up to perch in the rafters.

Ginny looked over her shoulder and said, "It's addressed to Hermione. Who's Anne Onnimis?

Fred said, "Oooh, anonymous letters from a secret admirer! Who could be Hermione's secret swain?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Hermione, blushing. "Excuse me."

As she left the table to read the letter in the privacy of Ginny's bedroom, she didn't notice as Fred's smile faded to a look of mild concern.

* * *

To: Hermione Granger  
From: A Friend  
Date: June 25, 1992

Granger,

How are you? Not that I care.

I trust you're having a delightful play date with your little friends. Spare me the details: I have a delicate stomach. (Note that I put a _colon_ in that sentence. It seemed … apt, apropos, the _mot juste_. And stop rolling your eyes like that. They'll fall out, and how will you read the rest of this letter?)

Are we still on for Tuesday? You know where, you know when.

I've finished all my summer homework, which tells you how dull it is around here. Ha! I outdid you _again,_ Granger. By my count, that makes … once.

But I may have to redo the essays. I said almost nothing but said it in the most sesquipedalian phraseology I could mobilize, on the grounds that this is indistinguishable from authentic ratiocination. But the teachers can't _all_ be that stupid, can they? Actually, they can. But they aren't.

I wrote you a poem:

_Roses are red; violets are blue.  
Detesting Granger is what I do._

You're welcome!

The owl should bring your discreet reply back to me if you don't wait too long.

Drop dead, Granger,

A Mysterious Stranger

P.S. PB is acting oddly. MB is keeping her distance. BB doesn't know what to make of it. It can't be good, though.

* * *

Hermione puzzled over the postscript until she concluded that PB, MB, and BB were "Papa Bear," "Mama Bear," and "Baby Bear," from a fairy tale she'd told him. Lucius Malfoy was acting oddly and his wife was backing away from him.

Time to dash off a quick reply. Quick replies to Draco were difficult, but she did her best:

* * *

To: Draco Malfoy  
From: No One in Particular

Malfoy,

Yes, I am well, and yes, Tuesday, and yes, your postscript sounded bad. Your punctuation joke was disgusting.

I don't know what else to say in a discreet reply! I want to say much, much, more. I hope you're doing all right. Let me think … no, there's a knock on the door. I'm so sorry!

With unflinching detestation,

"it's only the wind." (Did I tell you that story?)

P.S. No time for a postscript. Sorry. They're always the best part, aren't they?

* * *

Soon she opened the door to Ginny and Ron, holding a sealed, addressed envelope in her hand. "Is the owl still here?"

"Yeah," said Ron. "I tried to coax it down with food, but it was no go."

They went downstairs. The owl landed on Hermione's shoulder as soon as she entered the kitchen. She gave it the envelope and it flew off.

"What was that?" asked Mr. Weasley, who was nearby.

"Hermione got an anonymous letter and she answered it right away," said Ginny. "It's probably something romantic."

Hermione blushed again, but no one noticed because they were too busy scolding Ginny. Hermione said to Ron, "You knocked on my door."

Ron said, "Oh, right. We wondered if you wanted to make fudge."

The evening passed quickly, and the fudge was delicious. Later, when they went up to bed, Ginny nervously offered to sleep on the floor if Hermione didn't want to share the bed. It could easily sleep four girls their age, so Hermione told her not to be silly. After she turned out the light, Ginny said, "You said you're not Harry's girlfriend."

"I'm not."

"Do you want to be?"

"I don't, actually."

Ginny was silent for a while, then asked, "Will he like me?"

"Of course he will! I like you, so Harry will, too." A moment later she was asleep.

The days passed quickly. A lot of each day was spent on broomsticks, enough that Hermione went from being incompetent at flying to merely very bad. But she was pleased: it meant that proficiency was within her grasp.

She also spent a lot of time with Mrs. Weasley, who was always working cheerfully at something. Hermione began to realize that Mrs. Weasley was a subtler and far more powerful witch than she had believed.

And then it was Tuesday: time for her to leave. Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny walked her back into the village to catch an early-morning bus. After hugs all around, they parted.

She reached Waterloo Station around 1 PM. Leaving her suitcase at the station, she took the Underground to the area with the gate near Malfoy House.

A little before 2 PM she walked through the gate. A boy was sitting on the bench, but it wasn't Draco; it was Theodore Nott.

Nott saw here and stood. He was tall for his age (he was twelve) and thin. He beckoned her over, holding up a folded note.

She took it and read:

* * *

Called away at the last minute. I asked the bearer to look after you. I've told him a little but not everything. Trust him but don't confide in him.

In haste,

Nom de Plume

P.S. I detest you.

* * *

Nott smiled nervously and beckoned her towards the far end of the garden. Soon they were walking down an alley behind a row of mansions. He pointed at one with a plaque saying "Malfoy" next to the back gate. Two doors down as a gate marked "Nott." They went in.

The Nott mansion was smaller than the Malfoy mansion but almost made up for it with a clutter of smaller buildings in the back: two cottages and two larger buildings of unknown use. Nott took her into one of the larger buildings.

When he closed the door he said, "Hello, Granger."

"Hello, Nott."

He looked ill at ease. "I'm not used to entertaining girls. Or anyone, really."

"You're doing all right so far. What is this place?"

"My workshop. I have this end of the building. Father has the other two-thirds. Can I offer refreshments?"

"If it's not too much trouble."

In a somewhat louder voice, Nott said, "Refreshments for two, please. Something suitable for a young lady, I guess." He became silent, unsure what to do next.

Hermione asked, "What are you working on?"

He smiled and became more animated. "Come and see!" He almost ran to a granite-topped workbench holding many strange tools and objects. A glass vase held several willow twigs between one and two feet long. A twig lay by itself on the middle of the workbench.

"It's a wand, isn't it?" asked Hermione, then wanted to kick herself. Wands were complex! And far beyond the ability of any twelve-year-old. And the bark on this twig was still green.

"Pick it up," said Nott.

She did, and at once she felt its power. It was a strange wand, good at some things, bad at others. An opinionated wand. But how did she even know these things? Her own wand gave much fainter impressions.

"Try it," he said, smiling.

"I can't use magic out of school!"

"You can here. I use magic all the time."

She set the wand down. "I'm sorry, Nott. I don't break the rules unless I have no choice."

He looked ready to argue, but then changed his mind and said, "You could feel it, couldn't you?"

"It felt powerful. And almost like it has a mind of its own."

"It doesn't, but I know what you mean. Good, isn't it?"

"Did you make it yourself?"

"Yesterday. It's the first one that worked." There was a chime. "The refreshments are ready."

A small round table and two elegant chairs had been set up near the door, with a tea service, a plate of sandwiches, biscuits, and two glasses of milk for good measure.

Nott stuffed a sandwich into his mouth (admittedly, it was a small sandwich) and mumbled around it, "I made thirty wands that didn't work, though some were interesting."

Hermione helped herself to tea and a biscuit and asked "Is it just a willow twig? Nothing else?"

"That's right. That's how it all started, after all." He ate another sandwich, more slowly this time, and looked at Hermione thoughtfully as he ate. When he finished the sandwich he said, "Draco likes you."

"I like him, too."

"He picked up the wand and said almost the same thing you did. Goyle picked it up last night. Guess what he said?"

Hermione hazarded, "This thing is broken?"

"Too smart. Far too smart. What he actually said was, 'Is this a stick?'"

They both laughed. Nott then described all thirty of his failed wands in detail, bringing each of them over in turn so she could see for herself that they didn't work. She would have been happy to take all this on faith, but Nott found his failures every bit as fascinating as his successes.

After she had appreciated the thirtieth failed wand with as much interest as she could muster (very little), she managed to shift the conversation to a different topic.

Nott was the strangest boy she'd ever talked to, but she wouldn't mind talking to him again. For one thing, he told her that he hadn't learned wand-making from a book, and no one had taught him, either. He tried to explain how he had learned, but she didn't understand. A whole new way of learning things? She needed to find out more!

They talked and talked until it was time for Hermione to leave. Mostly they understood each other, but they mystified each other at the strangest moments. When she stood up to leave and thanked him for his hospitality, he asked suddenly, "Are you really Muggle-born?"

She tried an answer that Draco had suggested in a letter, "That's the official story."

He looked intrigued. "The _official_ story."

"When most people ask, I just say yes."

"I see," he said, clearly not seeing at all. She felt bad about that. Like many of Draco's cleverer ideas, it felt like a lie.

Nott said, "Let me walk you back to the gate. Draco asked me to."

"Thank you, Nott. I'm glad you're Draco's friend."

"He understands me. Thank you for visiting, Granger."

"My pleasure, Nott."

Then he opened the door and they walked to the gate. She'd be home in a few hours. It had been a good trip, all in all; as good as one could be without seeing Draco.

Soon the term would start and they could see each other more often. And if they were lucky, they'd run into each other in Diagon Alley. Especially if they arranged this in advance. That would be fun.


	14. At Flourish & Blotts

To: Draco Malfoy  
From: Hermione Granger  
Date: August 16, 1992

Dear Malfoy,

I'm fine. I hope you're well. It's been so long since I've seen you! Probably all my good influence has faded away and I'll have to start over. (Why does that sound enjoyable?) You're a hopeless wretch and aren't worth a minute of my time, so I'm hoping to spend time with you soon.

I've just sent a note to Ron (and Harry, who's still staying with the Weasleys) confirming that we'll meet at 10 AM on Wednesday, August 26 in Diagon Alley on the steps of Gringotts Bank. The Weasleys will be there in force: seven of them!

I don't know if you'll want to hide your face from us in shame or be there in all your splendid awfulness.

Malfoy, I _know_ I can't tell you what to do and you hate unsolicited advice, but I really have to mention (without insisting) that I'd _prefer_ that my parents not see you quarrel with Ron and Harry, and I must remind you that, when you're with Crabbe and Goyle, you seem more like them and less like yourself, and I'd rather my parents not see that. Not yet. (Random fact: people can build up a tolerance to a deadly poison by starting with very small doses. I don't know why I mentioned this.) And I worry that Nott might be a security risk, though maybe I'm wrong about that?

And of course we can meet at the little park. I'll be at the gate at 4 PM if I don't hear otherwise. My parents asked me to please mention that they're looking forward to seeing you again. (They like you, Malfoy.)

Sorry to spend whole letter on a simple rendezvous. I'll have lots more to say when we meet in person.

With detestation from

Hermione

P.S. We will talk about things both important and negligible.

* * *

To: Hermione Granger  
From: Draco Malfoy  
Date: August 25, 1992

Granger,

Out of the blue, my father said he's taking me to Diagon Alley tomorrow morning! I was planning on strolling over on my own. I don't know if this is a coincidence. My best guess: Father wants to meet the Famous Harry Potter informally. Father talks about Potter off and on, sometimes mixed with talk about Quidditch. I didn't tell Father anything, but he has Ministry contacts. Maybe Pop Weasley told his coworkers he'd be there, or maybe the Ministry keeps an eye on Potter's movements.

Father wants me to try out for Seeker this year. I was going to anyway. The position is open (our old Seeker graduated). Realistically, I'll come in second or third at the tryouts, but the position should be mine next year. Both of our best Seekers are seventh-years Father is also talking about buying me a Nimbus 2000 broom. I won't go into the technicalities now, but I don't want one and think whoever bought one for Potter was an idiot.

Who in the world is this Gilderoy Lockhart character? And why do we need _seven_ of his books

I see on rereading that I am neglecting you. Granger, you're the worst of the worst. You're a terrible influence on me. I could look into your eyes all day long in appalled fascination, so make room for that in your busy schedule.

Insincerely,

Draco

P.S. Tomorrow! It's been too long.

* * *

In Diagon Alley, Hermione first encountered Harry and Hagrid, and she was overjoyed to see them; happier even than she had expected to be. It had been too long! Harry reported that he had seen Draco already, along with Mr. Malfoy, in Knockturn Alley. The Weasleys joined them almost at once.

Harry and the Weasleys all looked sooty from Floo Powder, which Hermione had never tried and now didn't want to.

Hagrid departed on an errand of his own, but Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys went into Gringotts Bank. Hermione's parents were already there, exchanging bank notes for wizard coinage.

Hermione introduced Harry to her parents, who were of course eager to get to know the boy they'd heard so much about. They'd barely said hello when Harry was upstaged by Mr. Weasley.

"But you're Muggles!" Mr. Weasley said, delighted. "We must have a drink!" He was fascinated by the bank notes as well. Hermione was embarrassed by Mr. Weasley's delight in ordinary things. And he'd known all along that her parents were Muggles!

When Harry and the Weasleys returned from the vaults, Mr. Weasley insisted on taking Hermione's parents to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink, while Ron, Harry, and Hermione left together to enjoy an hour's romp through Diagon Alley. They all agreed to meet at Flourish and Blotts later to buy schoolbooks.

Harry bought ice cream for all three of them and the hour passed happily. Hermione hadn't seen Harry since June. He was delightful company, as always: rather quiet, but cheerful when he had any reason to be. Today, with money in his pocket and his two best friends by his side, he couldn't stop smiling. Ron was in an equally good mood. Hermione felt that the three of them made a terrific team, whether they were battling the Dark Lord or going out for ice cream.

Soon it was time to meet at Flourish and Blotts. A crowd outside waiting their turn to get in for a book signing that was happening that day. A banner across the front announced:

GILDEROY LOCKHART  
will be signing copies of his autobiography  
MAGICAL ME  
today 12:30 P.M. to 4:30 P.M.

"We can actually meet him!" said Hermione, who had never met an author before. "I mean, he's written almost the entire book list!"

To her surprise, the crowd there for the book signing contained more middle-aged witches than Hogwarts students.

Hermione, Ron, and Harry squeezed past the book-signing throng and found copies of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2,_ then spotted Hermione's and Ron's parents near the front of the line for Lockhart's books. They joined them.

Gilderoy Lockhart was at a table at the back of the shop, signing books. He was surprisingly well-dressed and well-groomed for a wizard, and was handsome and energetic as well, with a ready smile.

A photographer backed into Ron and snarled at him, seeming to think that working for the _Daily Prophet_ excused any amount of nastiness.

Lockhart caught sight of Harry, leaped to his feet, shouted, "It_ can't_ be Harry Potter?" and plunged through the crowd. He almost dragged Harry back to his table, where he made a speech. Harry looked terribly uncomfortable the entire time.

Then Lockhart announced that he had accepted the Defense Against the Dark Arts post at Hogwarts. Hermione was delighted. She wouldn't mind getting top marks from a good-looking, well-dressed teacher for a change.

Harry escaped from Lockhart just as the rest of them were at the front of the line, getting their stacks of Lockhart's books. Hermione found herself wishing that the line would move more slowly so she could spend more time gazing at Lockhart at close quarters, but it was not to be. So she moved towards the front of the shop, where they had left Ginny. Then she heard Draco's voice in Ginny's vicinity.

In his best sneer, Draco said loudly, "Famous Harry Potter! Can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page." Hermione's heart sank. She could tell that Draco was really enjoying himself. He loved teasing Harry: the more publicly, the better. She had no excuses to offer. It was wrong! She'd have to scold him about it later. Was that any way to spend their precious time together? Worst of all, her parents must have heard him! Did Draco _have_ to make it so hard for them to like him?

Hermione could see Draco and Harry now. Harry was angry and embarrassed, as she expected. But Draco didn't have the expected look of cheerful malice. His smile had faded already, and he looked nervous, uneasy.

Then Ginny stepped between Harry and Draco. She was almost as tall as Draco and was bristling with anger. Hermione realized for the first time how pretty Ginny was. Ginny said, "You leave him alone! He didn't want all that!"

Draco's nervousness was replaced by delight. He stared at Ginny in open admiration. Hermione felt a stab of jealousy.

Tearing his eyes from Ginny at last, Draco turned to Harry and drawled with happy malice, "Potter! You've got yourself a _girlfriend!"_

Ginny went bright red and suddenly looked much smaller. By the time Ron and Hermione reached the scene of the action, Draco had subsided, his smile gone, replaced by a look of nervous strain.

Ron got there first. "Oh, it's you," he said, unimpressed. "Bet you're surprised to see Harry here, eh?"

Malfoy caught sight of Hermione and nodded fractionally to her before telling Ron, "Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley. I supposed your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those."

Ron turned red. He had to set his books down before lunging at Draco, and by then Harry and Hermione each had a hand on him and held him back. Hermione put her other hand on Ginny, just in case.

Mr. Weasley was nearby and said something Hermione didn't quite catch.

A man's voice drawled lazily, "Well, well, well—Arthur Weasley."

A handsome, well-dressed man who could only be Lucius Malfoy stood just behind Draco, a hand resting lightly on his shoulder.

Draco looked even more nervous than before. He indicated … what? … to his father with a jerk of his head and a subtle gesture in the direction of Ginny's cauldron, followed by a small head movement that indicated Ginny herself. Mr. Malfoy gripped Draco's shoulder in acknowledgement. Draco showed a fleeting wince, then his face went blank.

Mr. Weasley said, "Lucius."

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," said Mr. Malfoy. "All those raids. I hope they're paying you overtime?" Taking his time, he reached into Ginny's cauldron, rummaged around a bit, and extracted Ginny's tattered, second-hand copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration._

Opening the book at random and glancing at the page, Mr. Malfoy said, "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

Mr. Weasley blushed. Barely hanging onto his temper, he said through gritted teeth, "We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy."

Hermione glanced at Draco. His face was blank. Even his nervousness was gone.

"Clearly," said Mr. Malfoy. His eyes landed on Hermione's parents. "The company you keep, Weasley … and I thought your family could sink no lower."

With a snarl, Mr. Weasley hurled himself at Mr. Malfoy, apparently intending to throttle him, but succeeding only in shoving him back against a bookshelf, which swayed and dumped the heavy spell books from its top two shelves onto their heads.

Draco came alert and dodged away from the combatants. "Back up!" he called to the other Hogwarts students. They all added distance between themselves and the fight. Draco ended up next to Ginny.

Then the bookcase fell over, toppling away from the combatants but on top of some customers. Other bookcases were knocked over as frightened customers surged this way and that, creating the very dangers they were trying to escape. Fred, George, and Molly Weasley shouted at Mr. Weasley.

Draco shouted, "Back up! Make way!" By the time they'd moved back another two steps, Hagrid had entered the fray, elbowing several people aside (probably by accident, since one of them was Fred) and nearly barging into Hermione's parents.

Hagrid bellowed, "Break it up there, gents, break it up!" He grabbed Mr. Weasley with one hand and Mr. Malfoy with the other, lifting Mr. Malfoy into the air by his suit collar before setting him down again.

Staggering a little, Mr. Malfoy looked around, spotting first Draco and then Ginny. Strangely, he still had Ginny's tattered old Transfiguration book in one hand. He lurched in their direction and shoved the book at Ginny, saying, "Here, girl! Take your book. It's the best your father can give you."

Hagrid reached for him again, but Mr. Malfoy twisted out of his grip, beckoned to Draco, and left the shop, head held high. Draco, looking grim, was at his heels.

Hagrid told Mr. Weasley in a loud voice, "Rotten to the core, the whole family. Everyone knows that! No Malfoy's worth listening to. Bad blood, that's what it is."

Hermione wanted to cry. Not Hagrid, too! Did _everyone_ hate Draco? And both Draco and his father had disgraced themselves right in front of her parents. Was it even _possible_ that they'd still support Draco? She rejoined her parents and discovered that they were shaken and couldn't wait to get back to Muggle London.

The shop was a shambles and paying for their books looked like an impossibility, but Hagrid rumbled a few hints that dripped with possibly unintended menace. The staff become a model of frightened efficiency. Soon Hermione and her parents took their leave of Hagrid, Harry, and the Weasleys and escaped from Diagon Alley.

* * *

Hermione walked through the gate into the little park at exactly 4 PM. Draco was sitting at his usual bench and stood at her approach. He studied her face with such deep anxiety that her eyes filled with tears. Taking comfort from her concern, he relaxed and smiled at her briefly before getting his expression under control again.

As usual, they waited until they'd gone a couple of blocks before speaking. Hermione spoke first, "Can you talk about it?"

"A little," he said. "You saw that I was assigned a part to play, and I played it. But I don't know what it was all about. If anything meaningful happened, I missed it. And father doesn't approve of brawling."

She said, "I know this shouldn't be my next question, but you looked smitten by Ginny. I was jealous."

"Ginny? Is that her name?" He walked a dozen paces in silence, looking puzzled. "You were jealous?"

"Yes."

Still looking confused, he said, "But I love _you."_

She looked around wildly. No one was near. "We're in _public,_ Malfoy!"

He blushed. "Oh, right." He sighed. "It's been a strange day."

She decided that he was tired as well as off-balance. "We're almost at the hotel."

She took him up to her room and then stepped over to her parents' room to report their arrival. When she returned, she said, "We're all glad you're here. We're also nervous wrecks and should rest quietly for a while."

"A Malfoy can't be a nervous wreck."

"You can rest from your exertions."

"Fair enough."

"Stretch out on the bed."

He looked at her in suspicion. "Don't get any funny ideas, Granger."

She shook her head and smiled, and he slipped off his shoes and lay down on the bed.

She joined him, scooting over until their bodies touched. After some confused maneuvering that nearly put his elbow in her eye, she was cuddled up against to him and they were holding each other.

He lay quietly for some time, then said, "I was afraid I'd lost you."

"You're my boyfriend, Draco. And you warned me as best you could."

"You're still a miracle, Hermione."

She pondered what to say next and concluded that just being together said it all. As she allowed herself to relax, she felt very close to bliss. She wished this moment could last forever.

Before she knew it, she was fast asleep.

Hermione awoke with a start when the door banged shut. "Sorry," whispered her mother, who had entered the room.

Hermione gently detached herself from Draco and got to her feet. She was pleased that she wasn't embarrassed. Her long talks with her mother had paid off that much, at least. In spite of euphemisms like "sleeping together," she knew she hadn't crossed the line. Anyway, wild horses couldn't drag Draco over the line. He hadn't entered puberty and was sensitive about it.

Hermione gazed down at him. She'd never seen him sleeping before. All the strain, bravado, vigilance, and pretense that were part of being Draco Malfoy had gone somewhere far away, leaving … the most beautiful face she had ever seen.

Echoing her thoughts, her mother whispered, "He's beautiful."

"Please don't tell him that."

"I know."

Hermione reached out and gently tickled Draco's foot until he twitched it away. She whispered, "Time to wake up, Malfoy. Rise and shine."

He stretched lazily, then his eyes flew open in alarm. He looked around wildly, saw Hermione and her mother, and calmed almost at once. He silently got to his feet, still sleepy.

Hermione commanded, "Say hi, Malfoy."

"Hi, Malfoy,"

"That's right."

"Hello, Granger. Mrs. Granger." He yawned, then passed his hand over his scalp. "Where's the lump?"

"Lump?"

"You must have hit me over the head. I was unconscious."

Hermione's mother said, "It's dinner time, Draco."

"Where'd you hide my shoes, Granger?"

"On the floor, where you left them."

"Clever girl."

At dinner, Hermione learned that her parents' impressions didn't live up to her fears, but didn't match her own, either. For example, they had been less upset at Lucius Malfoy's prejudice (which they'd been warned about) than Arthur Weasley's violence (which they hadn't). They'd been offended by Hagrid's "bad blood" remark and his air of menace. And they didn't even mention Draco's obnoxious remarks to Harry.

Hermione's father asked, "What do you think, Draco?"

Draco said, "I won't criticize my father."

"I understand."

Draco said, "It was embarrassing! Diagon Alley isn't like that. If someone dared me to visit Diagon Alley in Muggle clothes, I'd take them up on it just for fun."

Hermione's father said, "What about the things people said about blood purity?"

Draco glowered. "Anything that takes Granger away from me is wrong."

Hermione looked at her parents in sudden fear. Would they take Draco's statement as a challenge?

Her mother smiled softly, but her father looked hard at Draco and said, "Draco, do you know the story of Romeo and Juliet?"

Draco said softly, "I have nightmares. Sometimes I see ... I can't understand how anyone thinks it's romantic. Poison and daggers are stupid. If we live to grow up, we'll be all right."

"Where do you see the risks?"

Draco said, "Nobody tells kids much, but I have my own ideas. I've never heard anyone put it this way: anyone who wants to become too powerful has to fight Albus Dumbledore and his paladins."

Her father smiled slightly and asked, "And who might Dumbledore's paladins be?"

"Most of the staff of Hogwarts. Harry Potter. Hermione Granger. People I don't know about. They protect each other, but they're targets, too."

"What about you?"

"I stand with Granger and my family."

Her father nodded and turned to Hermione. "What do you think, sweetheart?"

Hermione said, "I think Draco's right. I doubt I'm really one of Professor Dumbledore's paladins yet, but Harry is, so it amounts to the same thing. But Draco's important, too. Professor Dumbledore told us as much."

Her father smiled at her fondly, then his smile vanished when he asked Draco, "If the fight at the bookstore had turned into a riot, what then?"

"I'd already moved us back a few steps and I was keeping an eye on escape routes. There was a clear path to the back of the shop. All the trouble was up front. We'd have gone out the back exit."

Curious, Hermione asked, "But you had to keep Ginny where she was, didn't you?"

Draco growled, "At least make your insane guesses … what's the term? … hypothetical examples."

Hermione recoiled at his tone, then let it go. "All right. Hypothetically, let's suppose you were a bad actor and Ginny was an unwitting participant."

"Unwitting. That's a good word."

"Thank you. If things went wrong, what next? Hypothetically."

"If things go wrong, the show's over. 'Run away before the audience demands a refund.' I forget where I heard that. Since I was surrounded by mere children like you, I'd help them escape. _Noblesse oblige._"

Hermione said, "So you'd be allowed to lead Ginny by the hand to safety?"

"If the show's over, the show's over. But she'd have punched me. Get a grip, Granger!"

* * *

Walking Draco back to the gate after dinner, Hermione said, "Harry overheard you in Borgin's shop."

"Potter was in Borgin's? Why?"

"It was an accident."

"You can't end up in Borgin's by accident. It's in Knockturn Alley!"

"You don't want to know what he overheard?"

"I was there, wasn't I? I know what we said. Oh, wait. He didn't hear me whining to Father, did he?"

"He did."

"That's embarrassing."

"But he heard that your father was selling things and you wanted to buy something."

"So?"

"Isn't that shop full of illegal dark artifacts?"

"No, of course not! They'd shut it down. It's full of _legal_ dark artifacts."

"Some dark artifacts are legal?"

"Quirrell really was a useless teacher, wasn't he? Lockhart is sure to be an improvement. Some of them are banned completely, some are borderline, and some are legal. Look it up."

"I will."

They walked in silence for a block, then Draco said, "Granger, I owe Weasley an apology."

"You owe everyone an apology."

"This is different. She's a first-year. She's off-limits. Her face just crumpled up."

"Malfoy! You have a conscience!"

"It was the best dig ever at Potter. He _really_ hated it. It felt great, and then … now what do I do, Granger?"

"Your father humiliated her, too. If it was out of bounds for you, it was out of bounds a thousand times over for him."

Draco was silent for a while, then said, "You know I can't criticize Father. I have to be delighted by everything he does. Except to you, a little bit, because you're my second soul."

They were almost at the gate. Hermione almost whispered, "Go ahead, Malfoy. If I get jealous again, we'll deal with it."

They parted casually. Neither of them wanted to, but … security.

On the way back to the hotel, Hermione thought about all the things they hadn't talked about. She still hadn't told him what had really happened at the end of the school year, especially that Lord Voldemort had been there. She still hadn't told him what Dobby the house-elf had said to Harry.

Too bad. But they'd be at Hogwarts in just a few days. They'd tell each other everything, right?


	15. Gilderoy Lockhart

**Gilderoy Lockhart**

When the Hogwarts Express started to move, Hermione had a compartment to herself, but this didn't last. Fred, George, and Ginny tumbled into the compartment together, looking breathless and upset.

"What's wrong?" asked Hermione.

"Ron and Harry missed the train!" they said, more or less together. "They were right behind us!"

"It was nearly eleven," said Fred. "They must have closed the gateway."

"We still had a minute," said Ginny.

George said, "Mum and Dad tried to go back and fetch them, but it was closed in the other direction, too. That's not supposed to happen."

Hermione was horrified. "What will they do? Are they stuck?"

Fred said, "Mum and Dad will be all right. They don't really need the gateway."

George said, "Students miss the train sometimes. They get rounded up and sent on to Hogwarts. Remember in our first year, Fred? They were taking the Sorting Hat away when Cedric Diggory finally showed up. The Hat fought and squirmed the whole time when they brought it back. I've always wondered if the Hat put him in Hufflepuff out of spite."

"You don't think anything bad happened to Ron and Harry, do you?" asked Hermione.

"The gateway was on the blink, that's all," said Fred.

"Obviously," said George.

"Nothing to do with them," they said together.

Hermione calmed down and they sat more or less in silence for a while.

About half an hour later, Draco Malfoy appeared in the doorway. Crabbe and Goyle were behind him.

Fred and George looked at Draco with interest, but Ginny tensed and looked ready to attack him.

Draco said, "I'm looking for Weasley."

"That's me," said Fred.

"I meant Weasley."

"Here," said George, raising his hand.

"What about Weasley, Weasley, Weasley, Weasley," he paused, counting silently, "Weasley and Weasley?"

"Ron missed the train," said Hermione. "Harry too."

"What a shame." Draco turned to Crabbe and Goyle and said, "Go back and guard those sweets. Help yourselves, though." They lumbered off.

Draco entered the compartment and closed the door.

Fred asked, "Are you on a diet, Malfoy?

George said, "They'll guard those sweets really well."

Fred told George, "He could get them back with a stomach pump."

They both said, "Can we watch?"

Hermione said coldly, "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Hello, Granger. Weasley. Weasley. Weasley. Just passing the time. Weasleys, I hope your father is well. Mine had the most amazing black eye."

"Split lip," said George. "That was about it."

"I think my own scuffle with Weasley was a better fight," said Draco, "but our fathers booked the better venue. What do you think, Granger?"

"They should be ashamed of themselves. Books were damaged!"

Fred told Draco, "Not that we're complaining—"

George said, "Always a pleasure to see you—"

"But why are you here, Malfoy?"

Draco said, "I wanted to apologize to Miss Weasley here."

Ginny's glare was replaced by surprise.

"Go on, then," said George.

"Weasley, I'm sorry for embarrassing you in the bookstore. I only meant to embarrass Potter. It's a little game we play."

Ginny blushed, but her eyes narrowed and she said, "You said mean things about my whole family."

Draco hesitated, opened his mouth to speak, hesitated again, and looked over at Fred and George.

Fred said, "Apology accepted, Malfoy."

Ginny said, "Fred!"

George told Draco, "We'll explain it to her later."

"George!"

"But she still won't like you," they said together.

Ginny blushed.

Draco opened the door of the compartment and, bowing, said, "Thank you." He departed a little too quickly, closing the door behind him.

Fred and George looked at each other. "What do you think that was about?" said George.

Hermione said, "Maybe he really did feel bad."

Fred said, "A Malfoy with human feelings? What's the world coming to?"

George said, "It's because Ginny's a first-year. Obviously. It's the same reason we never pick on him. It's awfully low to cross swords with younger students. Unless they insist."

"Or when it's really funny," added Fred.

"But why didn't he apologize for the other things?" asked Ginny.

"You have to take your own family's side in a feud," said George.

"It's disloyal not to," added Fred.

"And you can't apologize for it," said George.

"That would be disloyal, too."

Fred said, "But you can play it like a game. Malfoy says we're poor, and we say the Malfoys are a pack of deranged ferrets."

"Everyone goes away happy," said George.

They arrived at Hogwarts without further incident and the evening went well, though Hermione couldn't help worrying about Ron and Harry. The Sorting Hat put Ginny into Gryffindor almost without hesitation. Applauding happily, Hermione glanced at Draco at the Slytherin table to see if he looked disappointed. He winked at her.

The rumor that Harry and Ron had flown alone to Hogwarts in a bewitched car reached the common room slightly ahead of Harry and Ron themselves. They were greeted with rapturous applause over their daring prank. Hermione was sure this would get both them and Mr. Weasley into trouble. She decided to explain just how badly they'd erred, but they escaped to the boy's dormitory before she could reach them.

The library wasn't open this evening, she knew, so she got her books and notes in order for the first day of classes tomorrow. She was especially looking forward to Defense Against the Dark Arts with Gilderoy Lockhart and drew little hearts around his class times in her schedule.

At breakfast, Ron got a Howler from his mother. Hermione had never heard of Howlers before: magical letters that shouted and bellowed abuse at their hapless recipients. Mrs. Weasley had a great deal to say about Ron's use of the car, all of it very loud.

Hermione, who still hadn't scolded Ron and Harry, decided to go easy on them and give them the short-form version. She closed her copy of _Voyages with Vampires_ and said, "Well, I don't know what you expected, Ron, but you—"

"Don't tell me I deserved it," snapped Ron.

So she didn't.

At lunch, Ron asked what their next class was. Hermione got out her schedule. "Defense Against the Dark Arts," she said.

Ron seized her schedule. "Why have you outlined all Lockhart's lessons in little hearts?"

Hermione blushed and took her schedule back. Why, indeed? Draco was sure to ask the same question later—they looked at each other's schedules all the time—and he'd be wounded, no matter what she said. What was wrong with her?

After lunch, they enjoyed the sunshine in the courtyard. Colin Creevey, a small, hyperactive first-year, came up and pestered Harry with endless questions and open hero worship. He asked to take a picture of Harry and wanted Harry to promise to sign it after it was developed.

Draco was loitering nearby and pounced gleefully on this exchange. He said loudly, "Signed photos? You're giving out _signed photos,_ Potter?" He looked like Christmas had come early.

Before Harry could reply, Draco shouted, "Everyone line up! Harry Potter's giving out signed photos!" He eyes sparkled. It was clearly all he could not to burst out laughing.

"No, I'm not!" said Harry, but nowhere near as loudly as Draco. "Shut up, Malfoy!"

"You're just jealous!" added Colin Creevey.

Draco took a step backwards and actually clapped a hand to his forehead in simulated amazement. "Jealous? Of what? I don't want a foul scar across my head, thanks." He pressed his hand to his forehead, as if covering a wound. Then he stepped closer to Creevey, bent down, and behind his hand he said in loud, mock-confidential tones, "I don't think getting your head cut open makes you _that_ special, myself."

Hermione was puzzled. Draco had achieved an undreamed-of level of overacting. Why? No one could possibly believe he meant it!

Well, maybe Ron could. He frantically searched his robe for his wand, saying, "Eat slugs, Malfoy!"

Crabbe, perhaps impressed by Draco's bad acting, rubbed his knuckles at Ron menacingly. It was not a good look for him.

Draco struck a new pose, waving a warning finger at Ron. "Be careful, Weasley. You don't want to start any trouble, or your mummy will have to come and take you away from school." Clasping his hands together, he screeched, "If you put another toe out of line—"

Hermione looked around. Reactions to Draco's performance varied. His imitation of Mrs. Weasley struck one group of Slytherin fifth-years as particularly funny, but many students weren't even paying attention.

Almost as an afterthought, Draco said to Harry, "Weasley would like a signed photo, Potter. It'd be worth more than his family's whole house."

Ron had finally found his wand, but Hermione clapped her book shut and said, "Look out!" Ron's wand vanished.

Gilderoy Lockhart was striding towards them, looking confident and handsome in his turquoise robes. In a cheerful bellow that was oddly reminiscent of Draco's, he asked, "What's all this, what's all this? Who's giving out signed photos?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak but Lockhart kept right on shouting, "Shouldn't have asked!" He grinned delightedly, flashing his gleaming white teeth, and threw an arm across Harry's shoulders. "We meet again, Harry!"

Harry blushed. Draco prudently departed.

Lockhart ordered Creevey to take a photo of himself and Harry, then walked Harry into his classroom, talking loudly the entire time. Hermione had never seen Harry look so embarrassed! She wished Lockhart would treat him more gently. Harry was a quiet, modest boy. He didn't like being singled out for attention.

Lockhart's class started with a quiz. Hermione was well prepared, of course, but was flustered and embarrassed when Lockhart praised her for getting high marks. She wondered what was wrong with her. She was praised for high marks every day!

Near the end of the lesson Lockhart unleashed a cage of Cornish Pixies that caused a surprising amount of chaos. They were still on the rampage when the bell rang. Lockhart told Hermione, Ron, and Harry to round them up and put them back in their cage.

Ron and Harry were furious, but Hermione was happy. Lockhart trusted the three of them to set things to rights! And they succeeded without much trouble, of course. The pixies had broken a window, thrown Lockhart's wand outside and hung Neville from the chandelier, but they were helpless against Harry, Ron, and Hermione! It reminded her of the Forbidden Corridor in June—but far easier. They were the best team ever; they could do anything.

Lockhart was now her favorite teacher by far.

Hermione raced to the library after dinner, heading straight to their window seat. Draco was already there.

They sat together and talked of this and that for a few minutes. It felt good to be back in their old routine, in the seat that held so many happy memories.

Eventually Hermione said, "After lunch, you put on the worst acting performance I've ever seen."

"You noticed!" he said smugly.

"It was hard to miss. Did you have a stroke of genius, or did you just have a stroke?"

"I'll let you decide. Theo suggested I do something to separate my roles, because he gets confused. Sometimes I'm Malfoy, Prince of Slytherin. Sometimes I'm Malfoy the Clown. Theo wants to be able to tell the difference."

"Who is Theo?"

"Theodore Nott."

"Oh, of course. You don't want to compromise and be the Clown Prince of Slytherin?"

"Not anymore. I'm twelve years old! I've reached the age of dignity and maturity."

"I'll be thirteen in two weeks."

"The whole world shudders at the thought of you being a teen-ager."

"Do you shudder?"

"No, but I think it's inconsiderate for you to be older than me. Stop it at once!"

"I'll do my best."

They smiled at each other, then Draco asked, "How's the new term been treating you?"

"No complaints. Ron and Harry don't like Lockhart, but I do." She described their victory over the pixies.

He laughed. "I haven't had a class with Lockhart yet. I thought he'd be more boring than that."

* * *

They had Potions with Slytherin again this year. Ron paused outside the door before class. "I'll be there in a minute," he said. Curious, Hermione waited with him.

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle appeared a minute later, and Ron said, "Malfoy!"

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Weasley."

Ron proffered a folded note. Draco took it and scowled at Crabbe and Goyle, who showed signs of wanting to read the simpler words over his shoulder. They backed off.

Draco's eyebrows climbed again as he read the note. He put it away carefully in an inner pocket of his robe and told Ron, "Interesting. I'll have an answer for you next time."

Ron nodded.

Draco turned away, then turned back and said, "Weasley, even your family's spelling is poor."

After a perceptible delay, Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. Ron just rolled his eyes at this feeble effort. Then they all went inside.

Before the next Potions class, Malfoy gave Ron his answering note. Ron refused to discuss the notes, then or later, but that evening, when they were sitting in the window seat, Draco showed Hermione the first note and a copy of his reply:

* * *

To: Draco Malfoy  
From: Ginny Weasley

Malfoy,

I reject your apology. My brothers were wrong to accept it. I don't forgive you. I deny that I'm off-limits to your underbred bullying. Do your worst, Malfoy. You don't scare me.

G. Weasley

* * *

From: Draco Malfoy  
To: Ginny Weasley

Weasley,

I read your note with pleasure. Sadly, I must decline to add you to the family feud.

As for a personal feud between the two of us, you haven't given me provocation. I can't feud with first-years at random! You have to injure or humiliate me publicly in a way I can't overlook, then refuse to apologize. Unless you do this, you'll just have to put up with my

Best wishes,

Draco Malfoy

* * *

Hermione glowered at Draco and said, "You're flirting with her, Malfoy."

Draco was perplexed. "I don't see it." He looked at her intently and then said, "Advise me, Granger. I'm out of my depth."

She considered, but finally admitted with a sigh, "I don't know, either."

They soon adjourned to their nearby private study rooms and opened the concealed connecting door. Draco took Hermione into his arms, but his mind was far away.

After a while she said, "What's wrong?"

"I need to tell you some things."

"Bad news?"

"Not yet. When I hear the bad news, I'll be sworn to secrecy. I need to share my guesswork now."

"I'm listening."

"I've heard some hints. I expect to get instructions soon that force me to lie as convincingly as I can. That means lying even to you. Even when you're in my arms."

Hermione cuddled closer and whispered, "We knew this was coming, Draco."

"You'll believe some of the lies. You'll be afraid I've gone evil or insane."

"I know."

"You're smart, Hermione. I believe in you. Find the truth. Be skeptical. Believe _in_ me—but don't believe me. I won't be offended; you'll be doing me a favor. They'll lie to me, too; I probably won't know the truth. Find it for me. Please? Be clever and thorough. But be extra careful, too. I don't know what the game will be. Maybe it's almost a prank, maybe it's something desperate."

"I'll do my best."

"And, Hermione?"

"Yes, Draco?"

"I may have to humiliate you in public. Repeatedly."

Her body stiffened and she felt a sudden fear. "Worse than you did to Harry about the signed photos?"

"Yes."

"Worse than Ginny at the bookstore?"

"Maybe."

She searched his face. He was sad and worried. He was haunted by the fear of losing her, she knew. Summoning her courage, she said, "I'll be all right."

"And don't go easy on me, Hermione. If I do something really offensive or wrong, you have to be angry."

"I don't know if I can do that."

"Of course you can. You're Hermione Granger! You just have to figure out how. Hmm … What if you imagined my father standing right behind me, insisting that I do terrible things, not listening to me, threatening me?"

"Oh! Yes, that might work."

"Good. Not that he'd do any of those things. It was just a hypothetical example."

"Of course."

"My father loves me to pieces."

"Yes. That's what I'm afraid of."

* * *

At breakfast, Hermione was surprised to see Fred, George, and Ginny approach Draco at the Slytherin table. Fred and George held back but Ginny marched right up to him.

Draco set down his fork and rose, facing Ginny with a knowing smirk.

Ginny said loudly, "Malfoy, you're ugly and puny and have disgusting personal habits."

Draco tilted his head to one side and considered this, then asked, "Disgusting habits like what, specifically?"

Ginny faltered. Then she rallied and said, "How would I know? But you do!"

Draco's smirk broadened. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Weasley." He turned his back on her and resumed eating breakfast.

Ginny turned bright red. Fred and George escorted her back to the Gryffindor table, telling her that it wasn't bad for a first try, and they'd give her tips that were sure to work. She accepted the praise but told them to leave her alone; this was between her and Draco.

Hermione was uneasy. She didn't want Ginny trading barbs with Draco. That was her job! At least he hadn't flirted with her this time. Still, she'd have to find a way to break this up, and soon.

_[Next Time: Mudbloods and Murmurs]_


	16. Mudbloods and Murmurs

**Mudbloods and Murmurs**

On Saturday morning, Ron and Hermione went to breakfast without Harry, who was at his first Quidditch practice of the season. They ate quickly and took toast and marmalade with them to the Quidditch field. No one was there; the practice must be over. They were about to leave when the team walked out onto the field.

"Aren't you finished yet?" called Ron to Harry.

"Haven't even started," said Harry. "Wood's been teaching us new moves."

The team took to the air, but within a couple of minutes the Slytherin team walked onto the field and the Gryffindor team landed again.

Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, began arguing with Marcus Flint, the Slytherin captain. The argument became more general, with players on both sides joining in.

Ron and Hermione walked onto the field and joined the Gryffindor players. Ron asked Harry, "What's happening? Why aren't you playing? And what's _he_ doing here?"

Hermione followed his gaze and saw Draco. He was wearing Slytherin Quidditch robes and held a broomstick. Draco said, "I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley."

Hermione was impressed. He thought he'd only come in second or third at the tryouts! He must be very proud.

Draco continued with a particularly false smile, "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team."

Hermione's looked at Draco's new broom more closely. It was a Nimbus 2001; a broom he hated. And that meant …

But Draco was still talking, still smiling falsely. The instant you wondered if he was unhappy, you saw that he was. He looked like a badly animated corpse! But his voice control was perfect. In his best condescending sneer, he said. "Good, aren't they? But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them." This got a laugh from the Slytherin team.

Hermione was furious at Draco's father. How _dare_ Lucius Malfoy set up her boyfriend for failure like this? She could almost see him standing behind Draco, just as he had in the bookstore, gripping Draco's shoulder painfully while Draco faithfully carried out his orders. She channeled her anger at Draco and snarled, "At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to _buy_ their way in! They got in on pure talent!"

Draco's smile vanished and he glared at her. His glare felt entirely real. He replied slowly and coldly. "No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood."

Before Hermione could react, before she knew what to think, Fred and George leapt at Draco, looking ready to tear him to pieces. Flint barely managed to interpose himself. One of the other Gryffindor players shrieked at Draco, "How _dare_ you!" A fight was breaking out between the two teams.

Ron pulled out his wand and said, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" With a loud bang and a blinding flash of green light, Ron's damaged wand sent the spell in the wrong direction, hitting him in the midriff. Ron collapsed onto the grass.

Hermione, grateful for the distraction but afraid for Ron, ran to him. "Ron! Ron! Are you all right?"

But Ron was not all right. He vomited several large slugs. Then he did it again. And again. Ron heaved up what seemed like an endless series of slugs of different sizes and colors. Sometimes they emerged with incredible range and velocity; sometimes they just dribbled down his chin. Sometimes they came out by ones and twos, sometimes by the dozen. It was the most revolting thing Hermione had ever seen—and strangely fascinating.

At least it broke up the fight. The Slytherin team was convulsed with laughter. Draco in particular seemed to take Ron's mishap as a relief, even a deliverance, and he laughed and laughed, ending up on hands and knees, pounding his fist on the grass, barely able to breathe. Every time he got himself under control, a glance at Ron set him off again.

The Gryffindors didn't share his amusement, though Fred and George soon forgot the Slytherins and watched Ron with keen interest, taking in every detail, as if they were art critics rather than brothers. Hermione knew with disapproving certainty that they'd work day and night to develop the most impossibly creative use of Ron's slug spell, unleashing it on an unsuspecting world at some dramatic moment.

But that was beside the point. Ron needed help! Was his condition dangerous? She didn't know, so she had to assume it was. Not knowing was embarrassing! This was the first time Ron had mastered a spell she knew nothing about. Had he kept it a secret? Had she not paid attention? She needed to do better. Her friends relied on her!

She had Harry help her assist Ron off the field, taking him to Hagrid's hut, since it was nearby.

Lockhart was just saying goodbye to Hagrid as they arrived. Hagrid greeted them warmly enough. He was unfazed by Ron's slug problem, handing him a large copper basin and assuring them that it would run its course soon enough.

Hagrid complained that Lockhart had given him bad advice that he hadn't even asked for and revealed that Lockhart had been the sole applicant for the Defense Against the Dark Arts job.

Hagrid disliked Lockhart, just as Ron and Harry did. Hermione had already noticed that most of the boys disliked Lockhart, while the girls liked him. This puzzled her; she had no explanation for it. She wondered what Draco would make of it ... he wasn't really angry with her, was he? She'd been mean to him. He'd asked her to be, but what if she'd hit him too hard? He was far more sensitive than he let on.

Hagrid became angry when he learned that Draco had called Hermione a Mudblood. He and Ron took turns saying what a foul, loathsome, unspeakable, and taboo word it was, though all it actually _meant_ was "Muggle-born." They also disparaged the concept of blood purity as nothing but a medieval superstition.

The tone changed suddenly when Hagrid asked Harry why he hadn't given him a signed photo.

"I have _not_ been giving out signed photos!" Harry said angrily. "If Lockhart's still spreading that around—"

But Hagrid laughed and said he was just joking, and Harry calmed down. Later, Hagrid mentioned that Ginny had come by yesterday and introduced herself, and had seemed disappointed that Harry wasn't there.

"If you ask me," said Hagrid, "she wouldn't say no to a signed—"

"Oh, shut up!" said Harry.

Ron's slug problem gradually subsided, though it didn't stop completely. At least the larger and higher-velocity slugs no longer made an appearance.

On the way back to the castle for lunch, Hermione wondered if she should do something to help Harry see Ginny as something more than a pest. But would that be a good idea? If Ginny and Harry became a couple, even the mildest interaction between Draco and Ginny might trigger an all-out war. Anyway, Hermione didn't think that Harry had discovered girls yet. Too bad. Not enough people took Ginny seriously.

* * *

That evening, Hermione waited for Draco at the window seat for a long time. Draco was usually the first to arrive, but not tonight. Every minute increased her sense of foreboding.

Finally he appeared. He was pale and nervous, holding himself together by willpower alone. He sat down next to her. After a moment he sighed in relief and a little color came back into his face. Dumbledore had told them that it was impossible for two people to sit together at the window seat unless they were in love with each other. He'd been afraid that she didn't love him anymore! It made her want to cry, but she smiled at him and took his hand instead.

He took it all in, smile, unshed tears, and all, and squeezed her hand painfully, as if his life depended on not letting go. She gasped, but it took him a couple of seconds before he could force himself to relax his grip. "Sorry," he whispered.

"It's okay," she whispered back.

Some of the tension left his body. He wasn't at his best, not by a long shot, but he'd plunge ahead as soon as he could pretend he was okay.

After perhaps a minute, he spoke again. "Sorry I'm late. Flint talked my ear off." After a moment, he continued. "Top marks, Granger, as always. You were perfect on the Quidditch field. I mean it. You used the right words and plenty of feeling. It really hurt!" He stared off into the distance, reliving the painful memory. He brought himself back almost at once and managed a weak smile. "Keep it up."

"Thank you, I guess. Can you talk about it?"

"Most of it." He sighed, as if her tepid answer was infinitely reassuring. "How's Weasley?"

"You shouldn't have laughed so hard! He's more or less recovered."

"Good. Tell you what, Granger: you like being tested. Tell me what's happening in my life right now."

Hermione thought for a moment, then said, "First, tell me about the tryouts."

"There were no tryouts. Not for Seeker."

"Oh, Draco! I'm so sorry!"

He smiled back and squeezed her hand—gently—in acknowledgement. Ignoring that she had used the wrong name—the rule was that he was 'Malfoy' unless she was in his arms—he said, "So weave that into your story."

"Your father contacted Marcus Flint and made some kind of deal. Seven new brooms of a model you wouldn't be caught dead in a ditch with—"

"Quite right," said Draco.

"In exchange for your becoming Seeker. Perhaps the brooms weren't the only bribe. I don't like this, Malfoy!"

"Explain," said Draco.

"The act was disgusting in itself, but it sets you up to fail! And without tryouts, you can't even know how bad Flint's decision was."

"No one can," said Draco.

"Exactly. If there had been tryouts and you were the best, then fine, you deserve to be Seeker and the gift isn't a bribe. Also, it's not your father's fault if Slytherin loses. But as things are, if Slytherin loses, everyone blames your father!"

"Oh, they'll blame me, too," said Draco. "So I have to win."

"But you're on the wrong broom for that!" said Hermione. "What's wrong with the Nimbus, by the way?"

"You steer a broomstick by shifting your weight, right? What weight? Potter and I are the lightest Seekers in fifty years or more, so we need whippier brooms than anyone. But nobody thought about it. The Nimbus is the stiffest broom on the market. But remember, I expected to come in second or third on my Silver Arrow, which is perfect for me. It was never about this year, Granger. It was all about getting ready for next year."

"How did all this happen?"

"It happened because Marcus Flint is an idiot. He convinced himself that Potter catches the Golden Snitch because of his Nimbus 2000, not because he's any good. Therefore, I don't have to be any good, either. It's all about the brooms. Result: I'm set up to fail. From the best of intentions, of course. Why me?"

"Because everyone else is either pushed less hard or is sometimes listened to?"

"I was going to blame fate, but I like yours better. Let's go with that."

"What will you do?"

"I'm doing it. I'm pretending to be confident, as always, and training hard, and hoping to get lucky during the matches. There's a lot of luck in Quidditch."

"What are your chances, Malfoy?"

"No better than so-so. Probably worse. Slytherin expects to win, not just put in a good showing, so the bar is high. And as the Seeker, I'm the only Slytherin who can single-handedly lose both the Quidditch Cup and the House Cup. Which is exactly how my beloved housemates will see it if we lose."

"It's so unfair! You deserve so much better, Malfoy. To be listened to, at the very least. How can I help you?"

"You'll do that for me? Even after I called you a bad word?"

"It just means Muggle-born, Malfoy. I'm proud of my parents. You know that."

Draco looked relieved and lost a little more of his strain. "I'll just apologize for calling you filthy and little, then."

"Apology accepted. I suppose you suddenly came to the conclusion that Muggle-borns are awful people? All by yourself?"

"Of course I did! No other possibility exists! What's wrong with you, Granger?"

"You seem perfectly willing to hold my Muggle-born hand."

Draco looked at their hands in pretended surprise. "You're right! How strange!"

"Do you have an explanation for it?"

"Are you insane? Of course I don't! The whole point is to have no one to explain it _to._ Secrecy is our friend. If that fails, we fall back on stout denial."

"'Stout denial'?"

"That means you keep saying that it didn't happen, no matter how much proof they have … You look confused. We'll practice later in the study rooms."

"All right. Does it ever work?"

"You'd be amazed."

"Malfoy, what's all this Mudblood stuff in aid of?"

Draco flinched at the word 'Mudblood,' then smiled at her. "You're a wonder, Granger; you really are. But it's simple. I've decided to make all the Muggle-borns uncomfortable."

"Why?"

"Oh, now I'm supposed to have _reasons_ for my actions?"

"You'd seem more rational if you had a rationale."

"Well, I don't have one. I don't want one. Don't offer me one, Granger. Seriously."

"All right. After you frighten the Mudbloods, are you going to start working on the half-bloods?"

"Even Father is okay with half-bloods, which doesn't make any sense. Not if you know where half-bloods come from, which I hope you don't."

"I do, actually."

"Of course you do. You could probably draw pictures. Please don't. Anyway, the target is those awful Muggle-borns, who make up less than twenty percent of the students."

"What do you think is going to happen with all this?"

"Muggle-borns will continue to thrive at Hogwarts, and I'll be blamed. You'll beat me in exams, and I'll be blamed. Slytherin will lose the Quidditch and House Cups, and I'll be blamed."

"That's terrible! Even you deserve better!"

He laughed. "It sets a new standard for humiliation, doesn't it? But maybe I'll be lucky or we'll come up with something brilliant."

"Is it all gloom and doom?"

"Not at all. On the bright side, I have the support of a beautiful girlfriend and Father says I can stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays."

"That's wonderful!" She beamed at him, not sure what to think about being called beautiful, but delighted about the holidays.

She already had a tentative okay from her parents to spend the holidays at Hogwarts, though it was a wrench for all three of them. They adored spending the holidays together. But her parents always indulged her when they could; she worried that she was terribly spoiled. She resolved to find a book about that.

Her parents were fond of Draco, but when they thought about Hermione spending a couple of idle, unstructured weeks with her boyfriend, almost without adult supervision, their enthusiasm was lukewarm at best. No, what clinched the deal was Harry. They liked the idea that Harry, the unloved orphan boy, would spend the holidays surrounded by all his friends. Her parents were romantics. Unlike her.

Draco said, "The first Quidditch match of the season is between Slytherin and Gryffindor. It's sure to be an eye-opener. Try to hold yourself back and not set any professors on fire."

"Once was enough. Do you have any tricks up your sleeve?"

"Not yet."

They moved to their study rooms for more privacy, and Draco demonstrated that kissing Hermione's Mudblood lips meant as much to him as ever, or more. It had been a very rough day; there was no denying it. After they had held each other for a couple of minutes, Draco allowed himself to relax completely and immediately began to tremble. A little later he astonished her by whispering, "I love you, Hermione." After this he began to weep quietly, without concealing his tears and sobs the way he usually did.

"It's all right, Draco," she said softly, shedding tears of her own. "I'm here. I'll always be here. I love you, too."

His tears stopped after a minute or two, and when he pulled out his handkerchief he didn't blame them on allergies the way he usually did, but simply whispered, "Thank you."

It wasn't long before they disengaged and used their study rooms for studying. Hermione was vaguely aware that this would strike some people as unromantic, even cold, but studying was a big part of who she was. Last year she had proven that she could maintain a secret romance, save the world, and achieve top marks all at the same time. But it took a lot of study time. Draco, too, was a far better scholar than his nonchalant pose implied.

Hermione spent much of her study time with Harry and Ron, while Draco did the same with Crabbe and Goyle. Unlike Ron and Harry, Crabbe and Goyle contributed nothing during study sessions. It was all one-way. Draco also studied with the far more talented Theodore Nott and Millicent Bulstrode, sometimes one-on-one and sometimes in a group of three. Hermione barely knew Bulstrode, a big girl who looked a bit like a female Crabbe, and hadn't quite summoned the nerve to ask Draco about her. Hermione liked Nott, though he was the strangest boy she knew. She wouldn't be surprised if Nott was smarter than Draco or, just possibly (though the thought seemed unreal) herself.

They spent a few minutes together at the end of their study session. Draco walked her through the basics of stout denial, a skill that Hermione found extremely slippery, since it meant suppressing her desire to please, to be helpful, to be understood, and to be right. He told her that this was one of the few skills that Crabbe and Goyle found easier than she did.

Hermione was becoming aware that Draco had an odd set of skills that allowed him to outthink adults with his twelve-year-old brain. Usually he relied on simpler rules and a narrower focus than the adults were using. Like his rule that, "Anything that takes Granger away from me is wrong," which allowed him to secretly defy his father while scrupulously obeying him in everything else.

Hermione had heard of the power of simplicity but hadn't encountered in daily life before. All her learning pointed in the opposite direction.

Just before departing, he told her, "There's another skill I need to teach you, Hermione. Not today, but soon. It's one of those crucial life skills you don't find in books. This year's the right time. First I'll demonstrate it, then I'll teach you how to do it. So watch closely as events unfold."

"What skill is that?"

"How to lose."

* * *

At breakfast the next morning, Hermione was surprised to see Ginny summon Fred and George to her side. They dutifully joined her. Once more the three of them approached Draco at the Slytherin table.

Draco got up and smirked at Ginny. With honeyed insincerity, he said, "Weasley! What a pleasant surprise! How are you?"

This threw Ginny off-balance, as Draco must have intended. But she pulled herself together and said loudly and with obvious relish, "Malfoy, your father is a cheat. He bribed Flint to put you on the Quidditch team because you're too clumsy and stupid to earn it yourself."

Draco flinched. His ears turned pink. He glared at Ginny for several seconds, all pretense gone. Ginny began to look uncertain, as if maybe she'd gone too far. Then Draco's smirk returned and he said, "Close. So very close. If Granger hadn't told me the same thing yesterday, I might have accepted it. What a shame. Remember, Weasley: the early bird catches the slug."

"You're disgusting!"

"You noticed! I trust your brother is fully recovered?"

"Like you care! Why don't you just face facts and admit we're enemies, Malfoy?"

Draco just shook his head, still wearing an insufferable smirk. "Off you go, Weasley." He returned to his breakfast. Ginny and the twins withdrew.

_[Next: Enemies of the Heir, Beware]_


	17. Enemies of the Heir, Beware

**Enemies of the Heir, Beware**

September 15, 1992 was Hermione Granger's thirteenth birthday. Last year, no one at Hogwarts had noticed her birthday, and she had been sad and lonely. This year, only one person noticed, but it was the right person: her unsuitable boyfriend, Draco Malfoy.

They had arranged to meet in the library. She went to the window seat first, but he wasn't there. Her next stop was her private study room. And there on her desk was a cake with thirteen candles and "Happy Birthday Hermione." The candles lit when she bolted the door.

Draco was in the corner, pretending to hide. He took her in his arms. His eyes twinkled as he kissed her. He took his time. The candles had burned halfway down before he pulled back and said, "Happy birthday. Make a wish."

Her head was spinning. How could he have such an effect on her with simple close-mouthed kisses? But it told her what to wish for. _I wish for Draco to kiss me on my fourteenth birthday._ She concentrated on blowing out all thirteen candles. They blew out easily, of course; they wouldn't dare stand in the way of such a wish!

He laughed, delighted by her intensity and her success, then dug into his robes and handed her a wrapped package. She opened it up. It contained a beautiful blank book and a bronze pen in the shape of a small quill.

"These come in pairs," Draco explained. He pulled an identical book out of his robe. "If you write in your book with that pen, the writing appears in both books. And it's the same when I write in my book. Oh, and there should be a little bell that tinkles when I'm writing." Hermione found the tiny bronze bell. She attached it to her locket chain.

"We probably won't use it until summer," he said apologetically.

"It's wonderful," she told him.

"So what's it like, being a teenager?"

"It's a leap year, so I can tell you that being thirteen is just like being twelve and three hundred and sixty-five days, but with more cake and kisses."

He took her in his arms again. "That was a good answer."

It was a wonderful birthday. By rights, it shouldn't have been. Draco was the worst possible boyfriend: touchy, prejudiced, and surrounded by an appalling group of friends and family. He was always burdened and sometimes crushed by the demands placed on him by his father and himself. His competitive streak sometimes crossed the line into outright cruelty. Her friends hated him. He was so unsuitable that their relationship had to be kept secret, especially from her friends and his family. He had a morbid streak, too, expecting not just to fail, but to be humiliated at everything that mattered most to him, and for his hard-won victories to be ignored or scorned. Though often gloomy, he wasn't the least suicidal, but he doubted he'd live to grow up. His family had a genius for making enemies and embarking on disastrous schemes. It always amazed Hermione that anyone was fooled by his bravado.

And, as if that weren't hard enough, he was nine months younger than Hermione, at an age where this mattered. She was well into puberty; he wasn't. He had handled this adroitly by treating it as a fact but not an issue—most of the time. At least he was a little taller; they were both small for their age.

For his part, Draco saw Hermione as larger than life: the heroic, capable girl who could help him convert his life from a trap to a maze and lead him into the Light. In his moments of honesty, he called her his second soul, and beautiful. To him, she was a miracle, something he might someday deserve—if they survived. Seeing herself through his eyes was dizzying.

But there was no hint of darkness today. It was Hermione's day and he was delighted to help her celebrate. Only the locked, windowless door of the private study room spoke of their situation.

* * *

On Halloween, Hermione, Ron, and Harry attended the deathday party of the Gryffindor Ghost, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. The experience was … educational. Hermione refused to admit even to herself that it had been an unpleasant waste of time, but as they made their escape she was eager to get to the Great Hall and the Halloween Feast before it ended. Even the rotting food at the deathday party hadn't spoiled her appetite. Not completely.

But then Harry had stopped, listened carefully, and reported he'd heard that scary voice again, saying "Rip … tear … kill …" and other things along those lines. Ron and Hermione heard nothing, but Hermione believed him. Not enough to share Harry's grim excitement, but enough to stick by his side and stay alert. Harry took off in pursuit of the voice, through the entrance hall, past the Great Hall where the feast was winding down, and up a flight of stairs.

Harry stopped and Ron asked, "Harry, what are we—"

"Shh!" said Harry. He listened intently, then shouted, "It's going to kill someone!" and ran on, taking the next flight of stairs three at a time. They raced down corridor after corridor. Harry suddenly stopped.

Ron said, "Harry, what was that all about? I couldn't hear anything."

But Hermione saw something odd down the corridor. "Look!"

As they drew closer, they could see that a message was written on a stretch of wall between two windows, in foot-high letters:

**The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened.**  
**Enemies of the Heir, Beware.**

In a quavering voice, Ron asked, "What's that thing hanging underneath?"

As they hurried forward for a closer look, Harry slipped and almost fell. Ron and Hermione caught him. There was a big puddle of water on the stone floor.

Dangling from a torch bracket next to the letters was Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris. She was as still as stone, her eyes wide and staring.

The three friends stared back, standing almost as still. Finally Ron said, "Let's get out of here."

Harry said, "Shouldn't we try and help?"

Hermione loved Harry at moments like these, though she thought maybe Ron was right.

Ron said, "Trust me: we don't want to be found here."

He was right, but it was too late. The Halloween feast was over. Through some whimsical rearrangement of the staircases and corridors, crowds of laughing, chattering students headed to their dormitories came down the corridor from both directions. Both groups came to a halt when they saw the message, the cat, and the three friends. The laughing stopped, followed by the chattering.

Into the dead silence stepped Draco Malfoy, pushing his way to the front, the very picture of casual insolence, followed by Crabbe and Goyle. He read the message on the wall with raised eyebrows. Then he saw the dangling cat and reddened.

Muttering something under his breath, Draco strode forward dramatically, stopped under the center of the message, faced the crowed, and bellowed, "Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!" He swept the crowd with an evil grin, which flickered out when his eyes fell on the cat once more.

As if on cue, Filch shouted from the back of one of the groups, "What's going on here? What's going on?" He shoved his way through the crowd and froze in anguish when he saw the cat. Draco faded into the crowd. Hermione wondered if they should do the same.

Filch's voice shrieked, "My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" He looked around wildly. He noticed Harry, who was closest, and screamed, "You! _You! _You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll—"

Once more, a voice rang out as if on cue, calm but loud, "Argus!" It was Dumbledore.

The next thing Hermione knew, she, Ron, Harry, Filch, Dumbledore, Lockhart, Snape, and McGonagall were all crowded into Lockhart's nearby office. The teachers wrangled and squabbled. Hermione's heart sank. She desperately wanted to respect and even love her teachers, but they made it so hard!

Filch collapsed into a chair and sobbed uncontrollably. Lockhart offered advice that no one listened to. Snape treated Lockhart with open contempt. Filch and Snape took turns trying to blame Harry for Mrs. Norris' fate, or, failing that, to blame him for _something._ Their determined malice made Draco's antics seem lighthearted and innocent.

It was so unfair! Not only was it untrue, childish, ridiculous, and even unhinged, but why didn't anyone suspect _Hermione?_ Harry couldn't cast such a spell if his life depended on it! Admittedly, neither could she, but surely she could if she studied and practiced hard enough. With her, the accusation was _plausible! _It wasn't fair!

Eventually Dumbledore talked down Filch and Snape to the point where their ravings became mutterings, and Hermione, Ron, and Harry were dismissed. They had learned little except this: Mrs. Norris had not been killed, but petrified, and this could be reversed eventually, when the Mandrakes were mature.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione knew nothing about the Chamber of Secrets, though Ron thought he'd heard the name before.

They returned supperless to the Gryffindor common room and bed.

* * *

Ginny shook Hermione awake, saying, "Wake up, Hermione! Wake up! You'll miss breakfast!"

Hermione dressed hastily. Ginny was in an odd mood, swinging between anger, sadness, anxiety, and elation. As they left the dormitory, Hermione asked, "Is something up?"

"I'm going to really insult Malfoy this time and I want another girl there. Boys are stupid."

They hurried down to the Great Hall, which was almost empty. Breakfast was nearly over. Fred and George were the only ones at the Gryffindor table, waiting for Ginny. At the Slytherin table, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle had just taken their seats. Crabbe and Goyle ate with unseemly haste, but Draco ate calmly. His color and posture were good, as if he didn't expect trouble.

Ginny growled but sat at the Gryffindor table and began to eat. She could deal with Draco after the food vanished.

They finished eating with seconds to spare. Ginny stood up, and Fred and George did the same. They walked the few steps to where Draco was sitting flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

Draco made a show of dabbing his lips with his napkin before rising and facing them. Crabbe and Goyle rose as well, perhaps only because the food had just vanished. They had remained seated the last two times.

Ginny stepped forward and said shrilly, "Malfoy, you keep those two thugs with you because you're a coward and a weakling. And you're not even a Malfoy! Your mother picked you up along with a handful of silver Sickles when she was out whoring."

Absolute silence. Absolute stillness. Fred and George had gone pale. So had Crabbe and Goyle. But not so pale as Draco, who swayed. Crabbe and Goyle each grabbed an arm and steadied him. Draco's eyes were wide and unseeing, his face blank.

Ginny's initial look of angry satisfaction gave way first to surprise, then alarm and guilt.

Draco took a huge, gasping breath and turned bright red. He looked around wildly. It took him a moment to get his bearings and focus on Ginny.

Ginny blurted, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! I—"

Draco, looking strangely detached and self-possessed in spite of his red face, raised an index finger and said calmly, "Not yet."

He looked Fred in the eye. "My father can never hear of this. Swear you'll tell no one."

"I swear," said Fred instantly.

"Me, too," said George.

Draco's eye fell on Hermione. "Granger?"

Hermione, though shaken by everyone else's shock, couldn't resist asking, "What happens if I tell?"

"Someone might die."

"Good," muttered Goyle in a thick voice. Hermione was amazed to see that he was weeping.

Draco looked at Goyle, "Swear you'll keep this a secret, Gregory."

Goyle shook his head.

Draco said, "I need you to do this for me."

Goyle did not respond.

Draco said quietly, "I'll beg you if I must."

Goyle's eyes widened and he said hastily, "I swear." After a moment he said contritely, "I'm sorry, Draco."

Draco clapped him on the shoulder. "You're a good friend, Gregory." He glanced at Crabbe, who said, "I swear."

Draco looked around. His blush had faded and he looked pale again, and weary. "Who have I missed?"

Hermione said, "I swear to keep silent. Ginny."

Ginny, appalled and near tears, said, "I swear. Malfoy, I—"

"Not yet," said Draco for the second time. He sighed and seemed to grow smaller, sadder. "An hour from now, in the library. Chaperone … Granger. I'll come alone. And …" he sagged. Crabbe took his arm again. "Gryffindors leave. Right now. Don't look back."

He turned his back on them, slumped into his seat, and buried his face in his arms. His shoulders shook. The Gryffindors left hurriedly.

Against instructions, Hermione stopped and looked back. Crabbe and Goyle were patting him on his shaking shoulders. Crabbe was speaking quietly to him. Tears streamed down Goyle's face. Goyle turned a look of pure hatred on her.

She hurried away. She told herself she was not fleeing, not fleeing at all, just hurrying. She slowed down when she caught up with the others.

They were almost back to the portrait hole when Ginny broke the silence. "I hit him too hard." She sounded amazed. She stopped walking.

"You sure did," said Fred.

Ginny asked, "Why … I'm not sure I understand what just happened."

George said, "Malfoy screwed up. You hit him really hard last time. You could just see it strike home. It was time for him to call it quits. But, noooo, he had to claim it wasn't enough and had you go one more round."

Fred added, "He won't make that mistake again."

Ginny said, "He went all strange."

The twins nodded.

Ginny asked, "What happens now?"

"You meet him in the library," said Fred.

"Will he be all right?"

"He'll pretend to be, anyway," said George. "What do you think, Hermione? He's in your year."

Hermione said, "I'll reschedule if he's not okay."

George said, "Malfoy will offer some kind of deal. A truce, probably."

"I'll accept whatever he offers," promised Ginny.

Fred and George groaned and pretended to bang their heads against opposite walls of the corridor. Then Fred said, "Don't agree to anything unless Hermione thinks you should."

Fred said, "He said 'You're next, Mudbloods' just last night! Don't be _too_ vindictive, Hermione."

"I'll do my best," said Hermione.

* * *

Hermione and Ginny arrived early. Hermione took Ginny to the nook, told her about Esmeralda Valentine's window seat, and had her sit there. She herself pulled up a chair from a nearby table. Hermione wasn't quite sure why she'd set the stage like this, which bothered her. None of her books would have advised it. And it threw a wild card into the mix at a time when Draco didn't need surprises. But somehow she couldn't resist. And the romantic window seat and its validation of Ginny's love for Harry put Ginny into a better mood.

Draco arrived five minutes late, much recovered. Hermione wished she could have even a few seconds alone with him to ensure that he was really okay and to learn what he had in mind. Another misstep would be hard on all of them.

Draco took in the scene. When he looked at Hermione, his expression was sour but his eyes were dancing.

"Hello, Malfoy," said Hermione. "Who wants to start?"

Ginny looked alarmed, so Draco said, "I'll start."

"First, though," said Hermione. "I want to try something. I told Ginny the story of the window seat. Have you heard it?"

"Maybe," said Draco. "What do you want, Granger?"

"She's not sure she believes me. Sit down next to her."

Ginny said, "No!"

Draco drew back. "Not unless she invites me." He looked at Ginny and added, "Or dares me."

Ginny's eyes narrowed and she said, "I dare you to sit next to me, Malfoy."

Draco silently sat down on the window seat. A moment later they both gasped and sprang to their feet.

"What happened?" asked Hermione.

"I'm not sure," said Ginny. Draco nodded in agreement.

"Try it again," suggested Hermione. But they edged further away instead.

Draco said, "Do you have any other fascinating experiments for us, Granger, or can we get down to business?"

"Go ahead," said Hermione.

Draco said, "Hello, Granger. Thanks for agreeing to chaperone. Hello, Weasley, thanks for coming." He waited, but they did not reply. He continued, "Weasley, I acknowledge you as an equal. Well done. And I accept your apology. It was timely and heartfelt. It helped. And I'm sorry, too. For everything. But we can't be enemies."

"That's not fair!" said Ginny.

"Is too," said Draco.

"Is not!"

"Is too. We can be rivals."

"Enemies," insisted Ginny.

"Frenemies," said Draco. He crossed his arms. "That's my final offer."

"We're enemies, Malfoy."

"You hit me so hard, it made Goyle cry," said Draco. "But did you smile? Did you laugh? Did you take out a full-page ad in the _Daily Prophet_ just to gloat?"

"No," said Ginny, looking troubled.

"No. And guess what? That means you don't hate me."

Ginny turned to Hermione for support, "You hate Malfoy, right?"

"Draco Malfoy is the most irritating boy in the world," said Hermione with conviction, "but I don't hate him."

Draco said, "Me? What about you?"

Hermione said, "I'm not the most irritating boy in the world, thank you very much."

"No, but you're _both_ of the two most irritating girls in the world."

"That's impossible and stupid and exactly what I'd expect from you."

"Stop flattering yourself and tell Weasley we're rivals."

Hermione said, "Malfoy's right, for once. It's like the twins said on the train."

Ginny looked stubborn, but finally told Draco, "Are you finished, Malfoy? If not, I'm still listening."

Draco said, "First, never call me a coward or say anything against my mother ever again."

"Fine."

"And don't get all inventive about my father the way you did about my mother."

"Agreed. Were you serious about my insults getting people killed?"

"Oh, yes, absolutely. They don't call them mortal insults for nothing."

"Who?"

"I'm not sure. Most likely your father, or you. Feuds are unpredictable, so maybe Granger, too, just because she's not well protected. Maybe lots of people. Maybe nobody."

Ginny looked away, troubled, then looked back and said reluctantly, "Tell me about frenemies."

"A frenemy sort of a friend and sort of an enemy. In our case, the friend part has to be secret. We have to act like enemies in public."

"Sounds hard. Let's just be enemies."

"It _is_ hard. But you can't be my enemy because I like you."

"Malfoy!" Ginny blushed.

"Don't get a swelled head, Weasley. I like you. I don't like-you like you."

She glared at him. "Sit on the window seat."

"No."

"Why not? Are you chicken? I dare you."

Hermione caught her breath. Did calling him chicken count as calling him a coward?

Apparently not, because Draco went straight on, "A young person in love can sit there, right? And even if their love dies the next day, they can still come here and sit in the window seat for the rest of their lives, and remember. It's the whole point, really. So yes, I can sit there. No, it's not you. No, I don't want to talk about it."

Ginny looked stricken, certain that he had loved and lost. She asked softly, "Who was she, Draco?"

In equally soft tones, he said, "She was the most beautiful girl in the world. Don't ask me to tell you more. And don't ever call me Draco."

Ginny, convinced, asked, "Why are you okay with Hermione knowing that we're frenemies? Doesn't it have to be a secret?"

"It _absolutely_ has to be kept secret. Our families would think we're traitors. You can't tell_ anybody_. Not your parents, not your brothers, not your friends, not your diary, not your pet rat. Tell the twins we're still enemies, but we've promised to lay off the mortal insults. That's what they expect. As for Granger, I randomly trust her for no reason."

"She's your frenemy, too."

"Funny, your lips were moving, but I couldn't hear anything. Try again."

"Never mind."

"Oh, and you have to keep insulting me, both to my face and behind my back. You really do. I'll do the same. Should any topic be particularly off-limits?"

"I don't like it when you insult Harry."

"Sorry. If I stopped, everyone would think I'd fallen madly in love with him and you'd be all jealous."

This boggled Ginny for a moment, then she glowered and said, "And I _really_ don't like it when you tease me about my crush."

"That's the same as the first thing. Well, mostly. I can back off a lot. Not completely. I'll mostly do what I always do and claim your father doesn't have much money."

"I hate that! I don't think we can be frenemies unless you stop."

"I'll tell you a secret. And it's a real secret, so keep it to yourself. The Weasleys are the richest family I know. Seven children. When I call your family poor, I always see the six empty places around the Malfoy dinner table."

To Hermione's surprise, Ginny's eyes filled with tears.

Draco turned to Hermione. "What have I forgotten, Granger?"

"Practicing?"

"Good idea. Lob a few insults my way, Weasley."

Ginny shook her head. "I'm afraid to insult you again!"

Hermione said, "Malfoy, maybe we should stop here and have a practice session later."

"Tonight. I don't want her blushing every time she passes me in the hallway."

Hermione said, "You're the worst kind of idiot, Malfoy. You just ensured that it's exactly what she'll do."

"Then share your wisdom, Granger. I need a good laugh."

"You want a laugh? There's a mirror in the bathroom."

Draco said, "You've been in the boy's bathroom? Typical." He turned to Ginny, who was grinning at this exchange, and said, "Fun fact, Weasley: You blush when you're embarrassed _and_ when you're angry. Practice your angry muttering and you can master any situation. Even a mere girl can do that."

With a tentative smile, Ginny said, "I think I can handle it—Snako. You don't mind if I call you Snako, do you?"

Draco had winced both times she uttered his new nickname, but said, "If you must. Welcome to the game, Weasley."

"Welcome to hell, Snako." They smiled shyly at each other.

Hermione had expected to be insane with jealousy by this point, but it wasn't bad at all. Did Draco really believe Hermione was the most beautiful girl in the world? He probably did.

Draco said, "Are we done here?"

Ginny, suddenly anxious, said, "Wait! Tell me about the cat."

Draco asked, "What about her?"

"You shouted something when you saw Mrs. Norris."

Draco sighed. "My exact words were, 'Enemies of the Heir, beware. You'll be next, Mudbloods.'"

Ginny winced at the word 'Mudbloods' and asked, "Why?"

"I badmouth Muggle-borns at every opportunity."

"Why?" asked Ginny again.

"I can't stand people like Granger here. Obviously."

Ginny said, "That's such a Snako thing to say! But what about the cat?"

Draco glowered. "Who would kill a cat? I was so angry, I almost didn't give my little speech. Crabbe said my face was red."

Hermione asked, "You don't hate Mrs. Norris?"

"No, why should I?"

"She spies for Filch."

Draco said, "That wasn't her fault, was it? And she wasn't a spy, she was a scout. Get it right! I know she wasn't a friendly cat, but she didn't deserve to be killed."

"She's not dead, she's petrified."

"Wait, is petrification reversible?"

"Yes. Dumbledore promised Filch that Mrs. Norris will be revived."

"I didn't know that. Good."

Ginny asked, "What about the Chamber of Secrets and the Heir?"

Draco said, "I have no idea. How about you?"

Both girls shook their heads.

Draco stretched. "Well, I'd love to trade insults with you two all day, but Crabbe and Goyle will rush in and rescue me if I stay much longer. It would be just like them to save me _from_ damsels in distress. So I'll bid you _adieu._ And don't forget to root for me at the Quidditch match." He started to walk away.

Ginny said, "In your dreams, Malfoy—I mean Snako. I bet the whole school is calling you that in a week."

_[Next Time: The Rogue Bludger]_


	18. The Rogue Bludger

**The Rogue Bludger**

Every student at Hogwarts was talking about the petrification of Filch's cat and the writing on the wall: "The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened. Enemies of the Heir, Beware." Some students were terrified, but most treated it as a deliciously gruesome Halloween prank with just enough of a threat to maintain a shivery level of excitement.

Hermione treated it seriously because she was afraid that Draco might be involved. No, it was worse than that: of course he was involved! He's the one who shouted, "Enemies of the Heir, Beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!" And he'd warned her that he'd be drawn into his father's schemes this year.

Ginny Weasley, Draco's newest frenemy, seemed especially upset about Mrs. Norris. Attempts to comfort her only made things worse.

By lunchtime on Tuesday, Ginny had reached her limit and told Hermione quietly, "I want to talk to Snako. He loves animals, too." Hermione took her along when she went to the library after classes.

When they arrived, Draco was sitting in the window seat. He rose and said, "Ladies."

Hermione said, "You don't look surprised to see us."

Draco said, "What's the point of being frenemies if we never see each other? Hello Granger. Halloween's over; you should take off that horrible mask. Hello, Weasley. Are those freckles new?"

"Hi, Snako," said Ginny. "Can I talk to you?"

"Of course. What's on your mind, Weasel Girl?"

Ginny laughed. "Weasel Girl. I like that. It makes me sound like a superhero! 'The Amazing Adventures of Weasel Girl and her Faithful Sidekick, Snako.'"

"Sidekick," said Draco glumly.

"I know it's a big step up for you," said Ginny with an evil grin, "but you can handle it, my young apprentice."

Draco waved them over to a nearby table. After they were seated, Ginny said, "I'm really upset about Mrs. Norris and the whole Chamber of Secrets thing, and everyone just pats me on the head and tells me I should hate Mrs. Norris and everything's fine."

Draco said, "That's disgusting."

"I know, right?"

Draco said, "So what do you think is really going on?"

"No clue."

Draco said, "The word in the Slytherin common room is that it's Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets. That's an old legend from _Hogwarts: a History_. The condensed version is that Salazar Slytherin flounced out of Hogwarts in a snit. Imagine Pansy Parkinson, but with talent and a long beard. He left behind a Chamber of Secrets to unleash some kind of doom to make us sorry we were mean to him."

"Is the legend true?"

"I don't know. Even if it is, what we're seeing could still be a prank or a scam. Or a maniac."

"So you don't think it's safe?"

"Of course it isn't safe! People think Hogwarts is safe because _things like this_ _doesn't happen here._ But it did, so it's not. But fear not! You have the two smartest students in Hogwarts by your side—Mysterious Lord Snako and his sidekick, The Bookworm—but it might take us a while to wrap up the case, so stay on your toes, Weasel Girl. Granger, how do you want to divide up the research work?"

Hermione said reluctantly, "You're a suspect, Malfoy."

Ginny bristled. "Don't talk to Snako like that!"

Draco said, "The Bookworm is right, though. It's the downside to being Slytherin's most handsome, intelligent, and mysterious prince."

Hermione said, "Don't forget 'modest.'"

Draco pulled out a sheet of parchment and picked up a quill. "So you two take the lead here. What should we be looking into?"

"The Chamber of Secrets legend," said Hermione. Draco wrote that down.

"The Heir of Slytherin," said Ginny.

"Petrification: causes and cures," added Hermione.

After a pause, Ginny said, "Ways to stay safe if we don't solve the case right away."

Hermione said, "It's a long shot, but Filch can't erase the writing on the wall. How it was done might be a clue."

Hermione and Ginny were out of ideas. Draco said, "Missing library books. If the information we need was right here in the library, the culprit might have stolen some books. Plus the cards from the card catalog so they won't be missed right away."

Hermione remembered Draco's story about the books at Malfoy Manor that didn't belong there.

Draco added, "I'll talk to Madam Pince before I leave."

Then talked for a long time about other things. It was pleasant, the three of them talking almost like normal friends. Eventually the conversation began to wind down and Hermione said, "It's almost dinner time. Let's go, Ginny. Thank you, Malfoy."

Ginny said, "Yeah, thanks, Snako. You're my best frenemy."

"I'm your only frenemy."

"That means I could have called you my worst frenemy, but I didn't."

"Good point."

Hermione couldn't help worrying that Ginny and Draco got along so well. Ginny was pretty and overflowed with powerful emotions, while Draco had enough blind spots for a whole platoon of boys. To name just one, he was vulnerable to pretty girls and didn't even know it. Ginny had shattered him with insults that would merely enrage him if they came from a boy.

"One more thing," said Ginny. "Am I safe because I'm a pure-blood?"

"Don't bet on it," said Draco. He handed the list he'd written to Hermione and they departed. Draco caught up with Madam Pince and was in earnest conversation with her as Hermione and Ginny left.

Then Hermione said, "Drat!" and turned around. Draco was a suspect; he might be talking to Madam Pince about something else. She and Ginny went back and rejoined Draco.

Madam Pince was just saying, "Yes, Mr. Malfoy, I understand. I will take steps immediately. It's time to do another inventory anyway." Turning to the girls, she asked, "What can I do for you?"

Hermione asked if a book she was waiting for had come in, and they went to check while Draco sauntered off.

* * *

The next day, Hermione wheedled the story of the Chamber of Secrets from Professor Binns, the ghost who taught History of Magic. It was similar to what Draco had reported.

Later, Harry, Ron, and Hermione took a close look at the hallway where they'd found Mrs. Norris. Hermione saw a line of spiders exiting the hallway through a crack in a window pane. None of them had ever seen anything like it.

That night, in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione asked Harry and Ron, "Who can it be, though? Who'd want to frighten all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?"

"Let's think," said Ron. "Who do we know who thinks Muggle-borns are scum?"

Not for the first time, Hermione was amazed at how much larger than life Draco seemed to Ron and Harry. The older Slytherins saw Draco as a combination of class clown and cute mascot, but to Ron and Harry he was practically on a par with You-Know-Who. She said, "If you're talking about Malfoy—"

"Of course I am!" said Ron. "You heard him! 'You'll be next, Mudbloods!' Come on, you've only got to look at his foul rat face to know it's him."

Hermione wanted to point out that Draco's face was beautiful and became angelic when he was asleep, but of course she couldn't. Nor could she tell Ron that there was one Muggle-born that Draco was head-over-heels in love with.

"Malfoy, the Heir of Slytherin?" said Hermione doubtfully.

Harry said, "Look at his family. The whole lot of them have been in Slytherin; he's always boasting about it. They could easily be Slytherin's descendants. His father's definitely evil enough."

Hermione couldn't argue that last point.

Ron said, "They could have had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries! Handing it down, father to son …"

"Well," said Hermione, "I suppose it's possible …" She remembered all the warnings Draco had given her. If he really was the Heir of Slytherin, could he be counting on her to rescue him from his dark fate? Of course he could! It would be just like him. He never doubted her abilities or her heroism. It was so romantic!

"How do we prove it?" ask Harry.

An idea had been growing in Hermione's mind. Ron and Harry wanted to discover the truth. Draco had practically _begged_ her to discover the truth. "There might be a way," she said quietly. "Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous; very dangerous. We'd be breaking about fifty school rules…" And she explained how they could disguise themselves as Slytherins by taking Polyjuice Potion.

Within minutes, they had the plan all worked out.

* * *

"Professor Lockhart?" asked Hermione after class. "I wanted to get this book out of the library, just for background reading." She held out the note she'd prepared for his signature, authorizing her to check out _Moste Potent Potions._ Why was her hand trembling? And she was blushing, wasn't she? "But the thing is," she continued, "it's in the Restricted Section of the library, so I need a teacher to sign for it. I'm sure it would help me understand what you say in _Gadding with Ghouls_ about slow-acting venoms—"

Lockhart beamed at her. He was even more attractive at close range. "Ah, _Gadding with Ghouls!_ Possibly my very favorite book. You enjoyed it?"

"Oh, yes!" said Hermione truthfully. "So clever, the way you trapped that last one with the tea strainer—"

Pleased, Lockhart said, "Well, I'm sure no one will mind me giving the best student of the year a little extra help."

His praise made Hermione feel wonderful.

He produced a large signature on the note and returned it to Hermione, then turned his attention to Harry and talked about Quidditch for a while before the three friends left.

Harry said, "I don't believe it. He didn't even look at the book we wanted."

Ron said, "That's because he's a brainless git. But who cares? We've got what we needed."

Hermione was getting really tired of this. "He is not a brainless git!"

"Just because he said you were the best student of the year—"

They had reached the library and had to be quiet, or Hermione would have pointed out that she was called the best student all the time. Still, there was something different about Lockhart, something special, and it affected her.

They approached Madam Pince. Hermione held up her note.

_"Moste Potent Potions?"_ asked Madam Pince suspiciously, trying to take the note to look at it more closely. Hermione did not let go.

Ron said, "Oh, come on!" He wrenched the note from her grasp and handed it to Madam Pince. "We'll get you another autograph. Lockhart will sign anything if it stands still long enough."

Hermione was furious. Ron had just called Lockhart's permission a fake! And he'd made her look like a fool in front of the Hogwarts librarian, one of the most important people in Hermione's life!

Fortunately, Madam Pince knew better than to pay the slightest attention to Ron Weasley. She examined the note carefully, then left to get the book. _Moste Potent Potions _was a large, water-damaged book that smelled of mildew.

Hermione thanked Madam Pince and they turned to leave. Her anger had faded but now she on the verge of tears. In spite of her fearsome demeanor, Madam Pince had always been helpful and even kind to her. Hermione was ashamed of tricking her. And she couldn't tell Ron and Harry; they wouldn't understand.

Concentrating hard on keeping her head high, maintaining a steady pace, and not bursting into tears, Hermione left the library with her two friends.

She had regained her composure when they reached Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. She opened the book and found the Polyjuice Potion. "This is the most complicated potion I've ever seen," she told them. They went into some of the details, and the boys found many things to complain about.

Hermione slammed the book shut and glared at them, "Well, if you two are going to chicken out, fine! I don't want to break rules, you know. I think threatening Muggle-borns is far worse than brewing up a difficult potion. But if you don't want to find out if it's Malfoy, I'll go straight to Madam Pince now and hand this book back in."

The boys backed down and the discussion became more practical, though she had to glare at Ron when he started whining again. Ron was a good friend; he really was. They'd stood by each other through all kinds of adventures. She just wished she didn't have to remind herself of this quite so often.

* * *

Hermione watched Saturday's Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match as best she could, peering up through the rain. The Slytherins used their superior brooms to score goal after goal. Harry was being attacked relentlessly by a Bludger that seemed to want to pulverize him. Even Hermione could see that this wasn't normal. Draco was left to zoom around alone, looking for the Golden Snitch, while Fred and George had attached themselves to Harry to fend off the rogue Bludger.

Finally Madam Hooch blew her whistle and everyone returned to the ground. Hermione was relieved. The rogue Bludger would be retired and the game would resume with an honest one.

But no! Play resumed with the original Bludgers.

Soon the rogue Bludger smashed into Harry at incredible speed, breaking his right arm. A moment later, Harry swerved and headed straight for Draco, who hastily got out of his way. But Harry wasn't pursuing Draco. He had spotted the Golden Snitch hovering above Draco's head. With his right arm useless, Harry followed the Snitch in a steep dive. To even try to catch the Snitch, he had to let go of the broom and snatch at it with his left hand.

Harry's dive ended on the ground. He tumbled away from his broom. He managed to sit up and wave his left hand, which held the Golden Snitch. Then he fainted.

Hermione and Ron ran out to the field and were there a minute later when Harry regained consciousness. He was lying on the grass, his face white, the scar on his forehead unusually vivid. His arm was bent at an unnatural angle.

To Hermione's relief, Lockhart appeared. But Harry groaned and said, "Oh, no, not you!"

Lockhart said to the bystanders, "Doesn't know what he's saying!" Hermione was scandalized by his pause for chit-chat. Harry was in pain! Lockhart continued, "Not to worry, Harry, I'm about to fix your arm."

"No!" said Harry. "I'll keep it like this, thanks…" He struggled to sit up, but couldn't. Colin Creevey was taking pictures.

Lockhart said, "Lie back, Harry," to a Harry who was already lying back. "It's simple charm I've used countless times."

"Why can't I just go to the hospital wing?" asked Harry.

But Lockhart didn't listen. He cast a spell on Harry's arm. Everyone gasped. Hermione had to turn away and concentrate very hard on not being sick. Lockhart had done something dreadful to Harry's arm, which flopped around as if it had no bones at all.

The next thing Hermione knew, Lockhart had told them to escort Harry to the hospital wing, then strolled off as if nothing had happened.

Getting Harry to the hospital wing was easier said than done. Ron had Harry put his good arm across his shoulders and half-supported him as they slowly made their way to the hospital wing. The sight of Harry's boneless right arm bouncing and jiggling as they walked was so horrible that soon no one was following them.

Ron was angry and fearful. He called Lockhart every bad name he could think of and kept asking Harry if he thought he'd be all right.

Soon Hermione insisted on taking a turn, putting Harry's left arm across her shoulders as Ron had, but also putting her right arm around his waist. Harry needed emotional as well as physical support. "You're going to be all right, Harry," she said. "Everything will be fine. And you won! Even with a broken arm, you caught the Snitch and won the game. We'll get you patched up and you'll catch the Snitch in your good hand next time. Just keep walking, that's right."

It was a first-aid concept: Comfort the victim; don't ask the victim to comfort you. Be encouraging. No complaining. She'd learned it first from Draco, of all people.

She could tell that it helped Harry and even Ron. Ron fell into a new round of complaints a couple of times, but she'd say, "I'm sure you're right, Ron, but let's concentrate on getting Harry to Madam Pomfrey right now," and he'd calm down.

They finally reached the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was angry that Lockhart had tried amateur surgery instead of bringing Harry straight to her. In spite of this, it became clear that she could regrow Harry's bones overnight. He wouldn't have to miss a single practice session.

As Ron helped Harry get his boneless arm through his pajama sleeve, he became angry again and demanded, "How can you stick up for Lockhart now, Hermione, eh? If Harry had wanted deboning, he would have asked."

Now that Harry had reached safety, Hermione's self-control had slipped, and she said, "Anyone can make a mistake. And it doesn't hurt anymore, does it, Harry?"

"No, but it doesn't do anything else, either."

Hermione was grateful for Harry's matter-of-fact response to her stupid question. He was so steady in adversity!

Madam Pomfrey administered the Skele-Grow potion that would restore Harry's bones. It apparently tasted awful, and Hermione and Ron brought him glasses of water to wash away the taste.

Ron, reassured, grinned and said, "We won, though. That was some catch you made! Malfoy's face … he looked ready to kill …"

"I want to know how he fixed that Bludger," Hermione heard herself saying. What? Did she really believe that?

They talked about the Polyjuice Potion for a moment, and the questions they wanted to ask, but then the Gryffindor team arrived, still filthy and soaking wet in their uniforms. Madame Pomfrey threw them all out a minute later, and they went back to the common room.

* * *

Later, Hermione went to the library at the usual time. Draco was sitting in the window seat, looking like he'd lost his best friend. He smiled when he saw her and patted the seat next to her.

She sat down and said, "You looked sad."

"My first Quidditch match. I really wanted to win. Instead, it was a joke, a circus. What kind of idiot hexes a Bludger like that?"

"Marcus Flint?"

"Wait, where are my manners? Granger, I detest you and wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole." He took her hand. "No, Flint never does anything dishonorable. Disreputable, yes; dishonorable, no. That Bludger was such an obvious cheat, I didn't even believe it."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I was convinced the real target was me. No Slytherin would hex a Bludger that way, and nobody else likes us, so it had to be aimed at us. I figured it would bother Potter until I got complacent, then it would slam me. So I spent too much time watching it. I made a rookie mistake, too."

"Which was …?"

"During practice, I can hear the Snitch whenever it's close. I have really good hearing. But in a real game, the noise from the stands makes it impossible. I should have known that. So I put in a dismal performance."

"Draco, can you promise me that you didn't know about the Bludger?"

"Wrong name, Granger, but I swear on the honor of my House and on my detestation for you that I knew nothing about it, and don't think anyone on our team did, either. Let's find out who did it."

"Okay. How?"

"No idea. How's Potter?"

"He's in the hospital wing, regrowing all the bones in his arm."

"What? Why?"

Reluctantly, Hermione admitted, "Lockhart used a healing spell that caused all the bones in Harry's arm to vanish instead."

"Seriously?"

"Harry didn't want him to, but he did it anyway."

Draco shifted in his seat restlessly and made a growling noise. Before he could say anything nasty, Hermione said, "Please, Malfoy, I need to tell you something first."

He blinked. "Go on."

"I have … a lot of girls do … I … I like Lockhart."

He looked away from her, then back again. "You like Lockhart."

"Yes."

His face was a mask when he said, "Study room."

They repaired to her study room, which was closest and now had a love seat instead of a visitor's chair. She'd asked Madam Pince for one and it had arrived the next day, no questions asked. They settled into the love seat and put their arms around each other. Draco, trying without much success to look calm, said, "Proceed."

"I don't know how to explain it, Draco. I like him. It's like a crush, it's a lot like a crush, but it's not … it's not … real. I'd report him if he tried to kiss me. That would be inappropriate and creepy. But I want him to smile at me."

"You don't have a photograph that you kiss before you go to sleep, do you?"

Hermione blushed. "No." But a treasonous part of her mind loved the idea. Why hadn't _she_ thought of it?

Draco, partly reassured, admitted, "I'm _so_ out of my depth here, Hermione. Help me out. How should I be reacting? What should I be doing?"

Suddenly she began to cry, babbling about Harry's arm, her need for Draco to trust her, her dread that he and Ginny would grow too close, her confusion over Lockhart, her fear that she and Draco were too young and this was all so hard and she loved him so much and she knew she was hurting him and she didn't know what to _do!_

Draco held her. He stroked her hair and whispered soothing words, comforting her, letting her words flow. He'd remember them later—his memory was as good as hers—but for right now he set them all to one side, sometimes with an effort. When she stopped crying he dried her tears, every dab of his handkerchief a caress, and then she leaned against him and rested in his arms for a long time.

Eventually he said, "I'm scared, too. But I'll make you a promise, Hermione: you'll always be mine. Forever and ever. I'm not going to let trifles like other people or mistakes or reality come between us. No matter what happens, when the dust settles, it'll always be you and me." His body remained relaxed as he said this, as if he were saying something they'd both always known.

"Me, too. Always."

A moment later he chuckled, and she asked, "What?"

"I had the strangest idea. I'll have to bounce it off Theo. I'll tell you later."

"Okay. What about Lockhart?"

"Just promise me you'll tell me about every embarrassing Lockharty moment."

"You mean like every time I kiss his photo or swoon over his smile? All right."

"And I'll tell you about my goofy feelings for Weasel Girl, if I ever have any. I'll throw in Pansy Parkinson as a free bonus."

"What about Millicent Bulstrode?"

"Millie, too? Sure, why not?"

They sat quietly for a while, then he sighed. "Well, one thing's for sure."

"What's that?"

"Present company excepted, today's been a really lousy day. But it's almost over, so at least it won't get any worse."

* * *

That night, the petrified body of Colin Creevey, his camera not quite concealing the look of horror on his face, was carried to the hospital wing and placed gently on a bed. Colin Creevey was Muggle-born. The Heir of Slytherin had claimed a new victim.

_[Next: The Dueling Club_

_Thanks for reading. Please review!]_


	19. The Dueling Club

**The Dueling Club**

The next day was Sunday. Hermione went down to breakfast a little early. As she reached the doors to the Great Hall, she encountered Professor McGonagall describing Colin Creevey's petrification to Professor Flitwick.

Hermione must have gasped because they turned to look at her. She realized with embarrassment that her fingers were in her mouth.

McGonagall said, "Yes, it's a terrible thing, Miss Granger. I'm sorry."

"Colin's the smallest boy in Hogwarts!" said Hermione indignantly. "Will he be all right?"

McGonagall actually put a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "The Mandrake cure is completely effective. He'll be his old self again, no harm done."

"Do we have any clues, Professor?"

"If we did, we wouldn't tell the students before we acted upon them," said McGonagall primly. "And there will be no lack of mere speculation going about even if the teachers remain silent."

This proved accurate. As students drifted in for breakfast, the word spread, with rumors appearing out of nowhere almost as quickly. Hermione was happy when Ron appeared. She told him the news and he groaned.

"Not Creevey! I like the little runt. And he's in all the same classes as Ginny. If she was upset about a mangy old cat, think how she'll take the news about Creevey!"

"I want to start the Polyjuice Potion right away," said Hermione. Ron looked at his full plate in dismay and she amended this to, "Right after breakfast."

"I was going to visit Harry first."

"He'll understand. It's what he'd do. He thinks like a hero."

"Okay. But stop fidgeting! Let me eat in peace or go on ahead, Hermione. You're driving me crazy."

He ate slowly. After a couple of minutes, Hermione couldn't stand it anymore and told Ron to meet her in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. She left to gather up her supplies.

* * *

Harry arrived in Myrtle's bathroom about an hour later, reporting that his right arm had all its bones and seemed to work okay. Hermione had set up her Polyjuice Potion cauldron and supplies in a stall after getting Myrtle's promise not to interfere. Myrtle only complained and sulked a little bit about this. In truth, she was lonely unless she had someone to hear her crying and to talk to occasionally.

Harry already knew about Colin, but he had news of his own. "Dobby came to visit me last night."

Harry went on to relate what Dobby the House-Elf had told him. Dobby was responsible for the rogue Bludger, for one thing—a hare-brained attempt to convince Harry to flee Hogwarts as being too dangerous. Dobby claimed that Harry's life was in danger, now that the Chamber of Secrets was open _again,_ even though Harry wasn't Muggle-born.

Hermione said, "The Chamber of Secrets has been opened _before?"_

Ron looked pleased. "That settles it. Lucius Malfoy must have opened the Chamber when he was at school here and now he's told dear old Draco how to do it. It's obvious. I wish Dobby had told you what kind of monster is in there, though. I want to know how come nobody noticed it sneaking around the school."

* * *

Ron's prediction about Ginny was all too accurate. After her initial shock she put on a brave front, but she was jumpy and pale.

Ron's assumption that Draco would be preening and sneering over Colin's petrification turned out to be wrong. Draco's public jibes seemed almost absent-minded and he never mentioned Colin by name. Ron took this as additional proof of Draco's guilt.

In private, Draco was his normal self. Ginny tagged along with Hermione several times, and he not only gave her the support she needed, he gave her work to do, dumping a huge list of questions on her and showing her how to find the answers, if any, from Hogwarts' bizarrely organized library. This steadied her. Since she was inexperienced, he put her to work triaging books, rejecting ones that said nothing about the desired topics and noting down the rest for further study.

Hermione's only complaint was that, when Ginny was particularly sad, Draco's hands twitched with the effort of not hugging her.

One day, when Draco and Hermione were alone, Hermione asked him out of the blue, "What do you know about House-Elves?"

Draco said, "Less than you'd think. They pretty much stay out of sight. I hardly ever see them. Theo's the one you should talk to."

"Why Theo?"

"House-Elves love him. They practically raised him. But if you just have general questions, go ahead and ask me."

"Will you bring Theo with you next time"

"Tell you what, I'll let him know you want to talk to him discreetly, and he'll take care of the rest."

"All right. About the House-Elves—is it true that they're slaves?"

Draco was surprised. "Slaves? As in bought and sold? No, of course not!"

"I mean, bound to the same family for life."

"Feudalism, right. But Theo will know the precise details. I'm not even allowed to talk to the House-Elves."

"Why not?"

"Now that you mention it, I don't know. To keep me from giving stupid orders when I was younger, maybe? I'll have to ask."

Later, he asked her, "You _are_ trying to find out what my role in the attacks was, aren't you?"

She was surprised. "Of course."

"You haven't asked."

"What's your role in the attacks?"

"None, of course. Okay, I see your point. I'd have to say that either way. What I really wanted to say was, don't get fascinated by your prime suspect, whoever that might be. Keep your eyes open. Keep pulling on every thread. I want you safe, Hermione, and that means this needs to be over."

"What else can you tell me, Draco?"

"I've decided that the actual Chamber of Secrets is open, so it's not just a stupid scam. Probably. Also, no one's giving special protection to Hermione Granger. Don't think you can step into the line of fire just because your boyfriend loves you. And never forget that the legends are about murder, not petrification. Be a good girl and stay alive for me."

* * *

The Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff match was held on a glorious day in late November. The rain had stopped and the sun was out for once. Hermione watched the game with her friends, with Ginny sitting next to her on one side and Harry on the other, and Ron next to Harry.

The game was so free of fouls, rogue Bludgers, disappearing arm bones, professors on fire, and attempts to hurl Seekers from their brooms that it seemed almost exotic.

Hufflepuff won when Cedric Diggory caught the Golden Snitch after a pursuit lasting several minutes. Both he and the Ravenclaw Seeker Cho Chang nearly caught it several times as it dodged and skittered around the sky, and Chang's hand was just inches away from the Snitch when Diggory finally grasped it. It was by far the best game Hermione had ever seen.

After the game, the discussion in the Gryffindor common room kept veering back to the sex appeal of Chang and Diggory. Hermione noticed that the second-year boys, including Harry and Ron, had little to say on the topic, while even the first-year girls had vehement opinions.

Fred and George agreed that Diggory, a fellow fourth-year, was an admirable fellow in every way, while Chang, a third-year, was an excellent Seeker and easy on the eyes, but they knew little about her personally. Fred claimed that Chang was a "mysterious oriental beauty," then ducked the book that Katie Bell threw at his head.

Later, Hermione discussed this with Ginny, who repeated her catchphrase of, "boys are stupid." More specifically, boys lagged a couple of years behind girls in the things that really mattered, which was heartbreaking and unfair.

* * *

Soon it was December. Hermione added her name to the list of students staying at Hogwarts over the holidays. Of the Gryffindors, only Hermione, Harry, and all the Weasleys were staying. Plus poor Colin Creevey, of course, lying stiff and cold in the hospital wing.

Later, when she met Draco, she told him, "You look sad, Malfoy."

"It's Goyle. His family ordered him to spend the holidays at Hogwarts, and he's taking it hard."

"Funny, I never thought about his family."

"He hates it here and he's always on the verge of flunking out. Every day he tells himself that he just has to hang on until the holidays. Now that's gone."

"You care about him."

"Crabbe's okay with staying. His holidays are almost as bad as mine. But Goyle … it's not right! He misses his mother and sisters. He doesn't need to be here at all. I _told_ Father that!"

"Who else is staying?"

"In Slytherin, it's just me, Crabbe, Goyle, and a few fifth- and sixth-years who act like we don't exist. How about Gryffindor?"

"Me, Harry, and all the Weasleys."

"I was hoping Weaselina would leave, at least. She looks terrible."

* * *

In Thursday's double Potions class with Slytherin, Hermione waited anxiously for her chance to steal the missing ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion from Snape's private stores. Meanwhile, she worked carefully on her assignment: the Swelling Solution.

When Snape began spending a few minutes terrorizing Neville, his back was turned and Hermione gave the signal to Harry, who introduced a Filibuster firework into Goyle's cauldron.

The firework blasted the contents of Goyle's cauldron into the air, splashing most of the Slytherins and a few unlucky Gryffindors. Hermione crept into Snape's office. Her hands trembled only slightly as she took the ingredients she needed and hid them in her robe. Then she slipped back into the classroom.

It was pandemonium. Many students had grotesquely swollen hands or faces. Draco's nose had been splashed and was the size of an ostrich egg. But Theodore Nott was standing only a couple of feet from Goyle's cauldron, miraculously unsplashed. He watched Hermione curiously. She met his gaze and shook her head slightly. Nott turned away.

Snape was kept busy administering the antidote to the affected students and threatening expulsion to the as-yet unidentified miscreants. Surprisingly, everyone was back to normal within a few minutes.

Then the bell rang and the three friends hastened to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Hermione set out her new ingredients carefully and added most of them to the cauldron at once. As she stirred, she said, "It'll be ready in two weeks."

* * *

That evening, Hermione was working alone in her study room when the door opened, revealing Theodore Nott. "Can I come in?" he asked.

"I thought that door was locked!" said Hermione. Nott had startled her.

"Oh, sorry," said Nott. "I'll knock next time."

"Come in," said Hermione, remembering to smile. "Have a seat." Nott sat and Hermione closed and bolted the door.

"What can I do for you, Nott?" she asked.

"Draco said you wanted to talk to me," said Nott, "and I was curious about what happened in Potions."

"What did you see?"

"I ducked away from Goyle's cauldron before it erupted, then I saw you enter and leave Professor Snape's office."

"Did you tell Draco?"

"No. Do you want me to?"

"Please don't. I'll tell him myself, eventually."

"All right. I like your study room." He got up and looked around, then put his hand on the back wall and idly pushed open the perfectly concealed (and locked) door to Draco's study room. "Nice."

Hermione wanted to scream, but in more or less normal tones she asked, "How did you do that?"

"It uses the same key as the door," said Nott.

"But you don't have the key!"

"Locks don't really need keys, you know. They just think they do. Especially magical locks. You present them with the idea of the key and they open right up."

"You didn't open the Chamber of Secrets, did you?"

"No, I don't know where it is. It probably has a better lock, anyway."

"Where else have you been that you shouldn't have?"

"I never go where I _know_ I shouldn't. I explained that to Professor Dumbledore."

"When?"

"Last week, in his office. I had a question for him, but when I got there, all sorts of alarms went off. He seemed a little put out, but I explained. He put his wand away and had me open a box that was giving him trouble. Then he smiled and thanked me and showed me the official door."

"Did he answer your question?"

"He did! There's no known magical way of telling a Muggle-born witch from a pureblood or a half-blood. He was intrigued by my theory that you might be a pureblood who was hidden among Muggles and never claimed by your true parents." He looked doleful and added, "They're probably dead, I'm afraid."

Hermione closed her eyes for a couple of seconds to recapture her sanity. "Why would you think I'm a pureblood?"

"If blood purity means anything at all, you're far too talented to be Muggle-born. Obviously. So you're either from a wizarding family or the theory of blood purity is wrong. Or both, of course."

"Do you really need a theoretical basis to like me?"

"No, liking you is _a priori._ It's Draco's parents and my father who need a reason, or at least a pretext. Draco put me to work finding one."

"Thank you, Nott. I like you, too. May I call you Theo?"

"I'd be honored. May I call you Hermione?"

"Please do. Not in public, though."

"I might forget. But it won't matter much because people imagine I'm eccentric."

"Theo, what are we going to do about the Chamber of Secrets?"

"I wish I knew. I don't want anything bad to happen to you. Hogwarts would be boring without the Muggle-borns. I had a great discussion with Colin Creevey about optics and chemistry."

* * *

A Dueling Club was announced, with its first meeting that very evening in the Great Hall. All the students rushed to sign up.

When the time came, the Great Hall was packed with eager students. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood together in the throng.

Hermione was excited. "I wonder who'll be teaching us? Someone told me that Flitwick was a dueling champion when he was young. Maybe it will be him."

Harry said, "As long as it's not—oh, no."

Professor Lockhart strode onto the stage, looking handsome, confident, and well-groomed. He was accompanied by Professor Snape, looking somber and shabby.

Lockhart introduced himself and then said, "Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape." At the word "assistant," Snape gave Lockhart a venomous look. Lockhart continued, "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration."

The two professors took their positions about twenty feet apart. They bowed to each other, then Lockhart explained, "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course. One, two, three—"

They flipped their wands skyward, then pointed them at each other. Snape said, _"Expelliarmus!"_ and a flash of red light tossed Lockhart the length of the stage and into the wall.

Hermione's fingers were in her mouth. "Do you think he's all right?"

"Who cares?" said Harry and Ron in chorus.

Many of the Slytherins were cheering, including Draco. He caught her eye and shrugged in semi-apology, acknowledging her feelings without pretending to share them. He burst out laughing when Lockhart got drunkenly to his feet and staggered across the stage.

Lockhart made some lame excuses that Hermione wished she hadn't heard, then said, "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to put you into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me …"

Snape made sure that Harry was paired with Draco and Hermione was paired with Millicent Bulstrode. Ron got Seamus Finnigan.

Millicent Bulstrode was … beyond Hermione's ability to describe in polite euphemisms. Tall. Broad-shouldered. She had heavy everything: bones, muscles, body fat, eyebrows, scowl.

"Face your partners and bow!" said Lockhart. Hermione and Bulstrode bowed stiffly.

"Wands at the ready! When I count to three, cast you charms to Disarm your opponents. _Only_ to disarm them—we don't want any accidents. One, two, three!"

Hermione and Bulstrode both said, _"Expelliarmus!"_ at the same moment, and both their wands flew from their hands, landing midway between them.

Pleased, Hermione looked around and was dismayed to see Harry hit Draco with _Rictusempra_, making him double up in laughter. Draco dropped to his knees but choked out a _Tarantallegra_ and Harry began to dance uncontrollably. Students all over the Great Hall were firing every kind of spell except disarming spells at each other. That wasn't right!

Hermione moved to retrieve her wand. Bulstrode said, "Oh, no you don't!" and grabbed her, quickly putting her in a head lock. Hermione struggled helplessly; Bulstrode was even stronger than she looked. Bulstrode increased the pressure until the pain was unbearable and Hermione was crying.

Bulstrode growled in her ear, "Stay away from my Draco, you Mudblood bitch!"

Draco's level voice cut through the pain and tumult around them. "Millie, let go. Come here."

Bulstrode released Hermione. Only then did Hermione realize that Harry was clinging to Bulstrode, trying to drag her off Hermione without much success. Harry let go and Bulstrode pretended not to notice him as she picked up her wand and stepped over to Draco. Neither Draco nor Harry were under the influence of the previous set of spells. Someone must have cast _Finite Incantum._

Draco continued in that level voice, "Watch Lockhart, Millie. Disarm him if he does anything stupid." He raised his voice just a trifle. "Granger. Pick up your wand and keep Weasley from using his. He practically killed Finnigan."

Hermione scooped up her wand and scampered over to Ron, who was apologizing to a pale and shaky Seamus Finnigan.

Lockhart was announcing that he'd now show them how to block unfriendly spells. Snape deftly proposed to have Draco cast the spell and Harry block it. The two boys were led to their places. Everyone backed up to give them plenty of room.

Lockhart said, "Now, Harry, when Draco points his wand at you, you do this…" He made a complicated set of flourishes that ended with his wand clattering to the floor.

Meanwhile, Snape, smiling, was whispering in Draco's ear. Draco's eyes sparkled.

Hermione couldn't imagine a more perfect setup to humiliate Harry in front of the whole school. Harry asked Lockhart an urgent question, but Lockhart just clapped him on the shoulder and said something jolly that Hermione couldn't hear.

Then Lockhart called loudly, "Three, two, one, go!"

Draco, exuding delighted confidence, snapped up his wand and called, _"Serpensortia!"_

A long black snake with glistening white fangs appeared in front of Draco's wand, as if it were emerging from the wand itself, and dropped heavily to the floor. It glared at Harry and gathered itself to slither over and attack him. Harry waited calmly.

Snape, enjoying himself hugely, said, "Don't move, Potter, I'll get rid of it."

Then Lockhart said, "Allow me!" He made a spasmodic motion of his wand and the snake was flung into the air, falling back to the floor with a thump. With an angry hiss, the snake moved to strike at the nearest student, Justin Finch-Fletchley.

Hermione heard another loud hissing sound, not from the snake, but from Harry. The snake slumped to the ground and lay still, its eyes fixed reproachfully on Harry.

Justin bellowed at Harry, "What do you think you're playing at?" Without waiting for Harry to answer, he turned and left.

Snape made the snake disappear in a puff of smoke and stood gazing at Harry in a speculative way that Hermione didn't like.

Ron grabbed Harry and started hustling him out of the Great Hall. Hermione joined them.

Once they were in the common room, Ron and Hermione explained to Harry that he had just demonstrated that he was a Parselmouth, an extremely rare ability to talk to snakes that was associated with Salazar Slytherin himself. Everyone would now be certain that Harry was the Heir of Slytherin.

* * *

It was just two days from the departure of the Hogwarts Express and the holidays. The wind howled outside the castle and snow was falling fast.

Herbology was canceled and Hermione, Ron, and Harry returned to the common room. Hermione was losing a game of wizard chess to Ron when Harry left to find Justin and explain.

Later a number of Gryffindors came pouring back into the common room with bad news. Justin Finch-Fletchley had been petrified! And not only that, so had Nearly Headless Nick!

That last part seemed so ridiculous that Hermione went to see for herself. Justin's petrified body had already been removed and the only person near the scene of the crime was Ernie MacMillan, who was glumly wafting Nearly Headless Nick up the stairs with a large fan. Hermione stayed and helped. The work was exhausting and Ernie was glad for the company. Dealing with a petrified ghost alone in a cold castle while a blizzard raged outside was spooky even by wizarding standards.

Ernie was convinced that Harry was to blame and explained this to Hermione as calmly and reasonably as he could, since he didn't want Hermione to storm off and leave him by himself.

Hermione said, "I don't think that can be right, Ernie. I'm Muggle-born, and Harry would never do anything to hurt me."

"There's a rumor going around that you're a secret pureblood." He stopped fanning and looked at her. "Are you?"

"No, I'm not," said Hermione firmly. Draco and Theo had some explaining to do!

They slowly fanned Nick into the hospital wing.

Most of the school saw this double attack as the truly frightening event it was, except for Fred and George, who clowned it up during remaining day of the term, preceding Harry in the hallways and announcing, "Make way for the Heir of Slytherin" and similar unfunny jokes. This brought Ginny to tears, but they didn't stop. And in fact Harry appreciated their clowning, since the alternative was silent stares.

* * *

Draco met Hermione in the library Friday night. They sat together in the window seat and he handed her a pale lavender envelope sealed with purple wax. She opened it and took out a note on matching paper.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_I'm sorry for laying hands on you at the Dueling Club and for what I said to you._

_I promised Draco I wouldn't harm you in any way and won't mention to anyone that you know Draco, except distantly, as a classmate._

_Honestly, I hope you get yourself petrified over the holidays so Draco has a chance to come to his senses. And with that in mind,_

_Happy Holidays!_

_Millicent Bulstrode_

Hermione looked up from the letter, then offered it to Draco. He waved it away. "I've read it."

She set the letter down and took his hand, asking, "When did you learn she had a crush on you?"

"When she tried to unscrew your head," said Draco. "Until then I thought we were the same as always."

"What are you going to do?"

"I haven't the slightest idea. By the way, did you notice that you and Millie were the only ones who disarmed your opponents?"

"Really?"

"Yes. I botched my own attempt. I got the timing wrong and conked Potter on the head instead of grabbing his wand. That was embarrassing."

"Malfoy, I hope you don't mind my asking, but have you ever won a contest with Harry? Not counting insults?"

"Never. It's the most amazing thing! I used a really advanced spell to conjure a terrifying snake, but Potter turns out to be a Parselmouth. Talk about snatching defeat from the fangs of victory! I ask you, Granger, is that fair?"

"It isn't. You work so hard! Did you hear what Harry said to the snake?"

"Oh, yes, it was very clear. He said 'hiss, hiss, hiss.'"

"Very funny."

"I'm not a Parselmouth, if that's what you mean. Not that you should take my word for it."

"Do you think Harry's the Heir of Slytherin, Malfoy?"

"Not a chance. For one thing, Potter's mother was Muggle-born and so are you."

"Wait, I'm not a secret pureblood?"

"That story is what we in the trade refer to as a 'lie.' Get it right, Granger! Potter would have to be under the Imperious curse or something. Even then, you'd have to be lying about being with him on Halloween."

"I was telling the truth. I don't think I've ever lied to you."

Ginny wandered into view. Draco waved her over. She stopped a couple of paces away from the window seat and regarded them sitting there together, holding hands. Her expression slowly changed from wide-eyed surprise to open delight.

Ginny accused, "You said you were frenemies!"

Draco smirked at her and said, "Actually, _you_ said we were frenemies. Hello, Weaselette."

"Hi, Snako. How long has this been going on?"

"Over a year."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I must be the worst detective ever." But she was still smiling.

"Weasel Girl," said Draco, "it's good to see you smile. Do you have any plans for the holidays?"

Ginny said, "I've promised myself I won't touch my diary the entire time because I'll be doing absolutely nothing."

Hermione was crestfallen. Ginny could do so much schoolwork over the next two weeks! But she looked at the dark circles under Ginny's eyes and changed her mind. "Too bad," she said. "Since you're the youngest, I was hoping to pamper and spoil you."

Draco added, "Not to mention all the Hogwarts Christmas revelry."

"You want me spoiled, eh? Well, all right," said Ginny. "But no work!"

"Agreed," said Hermione.

"Good," said Ginny. "Now get out of my window seat. I have some meditating to do."

As they stood, Draco said to Hermione, "This may turn out to be a tough gig."

"Quiet, you!" said Ginny.

_[Next: The Polyjuice Potion]_

* * *

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	20. The Polyjuice Potion

**The Polyjuice Potion**

Christmas at Hogwarts was a hundred times better than Christmas at Malfoy Manor. How could it be otherwise? Still, Crabbe and Goyle were cramping Draco's style. They'd spent ages at the Christmas Tea in the Great Hall, and he needed to find them soon or he'd be late for his appointment with Ginny.

Draco and Ginny were having daily arguments over Quidditch tactics. For example, Draco argued that only bigger players made good Beaters, but Ginny held that Fred and George had been brilliant as second-years, so Draco was ignorant as well as fatheaded. Draco loved these discussions, but Hermione had stopped attending for some reason.

So Draco went searching for Crabbe and Goyle. He found them near the Great Hall. They seemed torpid after their huge meal, but that was all right. He only needed them to stay focused for a few minutes.

He brought them into the Slytherin common room and fetched today's _Daily Prophet_, which, with typical tastelessness, had run a story on Christmas Day about Arthur Weasley being fined fifty golden Galleons for the flying car fiasco.

Draco read the story out loud and said some vicious things about Mudbloods and Hermione while he was at it. That way, Crabbe and Goyle could dutifully write letters home reporting that Draco was full of hatred and bile, just as everyone wanted him to be. Happy Christmas, everyone!

Then Crabbe and Goyle began asking questions that were foolish even for them. They even asked for the hundredth time if he were the Heir of Slytherin, or knew who was. For the hundredth time he told them, no, he wasn't; no, he didn't know who was, and anyway he'd been ordered to keep out of it.

He also mentioned that Malfoy Manor had been raided, but the Ministry had missed the really good stuff in _the secret chamber under the drawing-room floor._ He was telling this story to everyone, changing the location each time. Every raid would unmask a traitor. All of the "secret chambers" were real but held only gray-area odds and ends. That way, everyone went away happy.

Draco gradually became uneasy. Something was wrong—disturbingly wrong. He realized with a start that he wasn't dealing with Crabbe and Goyle at all, but Harry Potter and Ron Weasley in disguise! Polyjuice Potion—obviously—and it was wearing off.

Question: What kind of twenty-four carat imbecile uses Polyjuice Potion and doesn't keep one eye glued to the clock? Answer: Allow me to introduce Exhibit A and Exhibit B.

After what seemed like an eternity, Potter and Weasley also realized they were changing back. They fled, muttering excuses about stomach ache. It was comical, but Draco sat frozen in horror. Not because of what Potter and Weasley had heard; that was just embarrassing. The important question was: where was Hermione?

Of the three friends, only Hermione could brew the Polyjuice Potion or ask the right questions—or tell time, apparently. Without her, the impersonation wasn't worth trying. So where was she? Was she okay? No, of course she wasn't!

And if something had gone wrong, Crabbe and Goyle might be in trouble, too. Had she stayed behind because her scheme had injured them? Potter and Weasley couldn't be trusted to treat them humanely, but Hermione could.

Draco left the Slytherin common room about a minute behind Potter and Weasley. He took out his locket, twin to the one he'd given Hermione a year ago. She didn't know it existed. He tapped it and whispered an incantation. It rose and pulled at its chain, attracted to Hermione's locket. She was some distance away and at least one floor above him. Draco ran.

On his way, he encountered two pairs of shoes lying in the corridor, next to a closet. Draco neutralized an elegant locking spell, opened the door, and there were Crabbe and Goyle. They were awake and angry, but unharmed.

"About time, Draco!" said Crabbe.

"You're welcome," said Draco. "What happened?"

"We don't know," said Goyle. "There were two lovely little cakes on the banister back there, and we ate them, then we woke up here."

Draco said, "Listen closely. Go back to the dormitory and take it easy. You never saw the two cakes. You were never in the closet. If anyone asks about me, I just left to jog around the castle and work up an appetite for dinner. Got that?"

They nodded. "What are you really doing?" asked Crabbe. "I want to get back at whoever drugged us."

"I'm working on it. But this is _our_ fight, so if anyone asks, anyone at all, nothing happened. Now, off you go."

Without another word, they put on their shoes and lumbered off to the Slytherin common room.

The locket led Draco past the Great Hall, up two staircases, and finally to a girls' bathroom marked "Out of Order." Moving to press an ear to the door, it opened almost in his face.

Could kids his age have heart attacks? It sure felt like it! Fortunately, the door only opened partway, because the opener, Ron Weasley, stopped to continue an argument. Draco scampered unseen behind a nearby statue. He felt anxious and more than a bit shaky—as who wouldn't? Well, not slow-but-steady Potter, of course, but anyone else would be just as jittery as he was.

"No, we need to go right now, Hermione!" Weasley was saying. "Never delay treatment, that's the rule."

"Okay," said Hermione, her voice high-pitched and dispirited. "You're right. Let's go, then."

The three friends left the bathroom, the two boys supporting Hermione, though it wasn't clear why. She'd pulled her robes up above her head, concealing her face.

Draco could barely resist the urge to interrupt them and take charge. What a disaster that would be! But that was just his anxiety speaking.

No, he had work to do here, and he had to be quick about it. If Hermione's injury was even slightly related to brewing the Polyjuice Potion, Madam Pomfrey would consult with Snape immediately. She's have to: Snape was a leading expert. The moment Snape left Madam Pomfrey he's be on Hermione's trail like a bloodhound. Snape hated Potter and was almost as bad about Hermione. Snape's search needed to turn up nothing.

When the three Gryffindors turned the corner, Draco emerged from hiding and approached the bathroom. His heart sank when he noticed an odor of potion-brewing in the corridor. Snape would surely notice it, too.

Draco muttered, "If it's out of order, it's not really a girls' loo, so I can go right in." It still took all his willpower to open the door. The air was positively smoky, with an intense potion smell. He needed to get rid of the stench, especially in the corridor, but how?

Draco called, "Hello? Is anybody here?"

A ghost girl passed through a stall and stopped inches away to glare at him. She was around fourteen, with a pretty face disguised by spots and an ugly pair of glasses.

"I don't know," said the ghost girl coldly, _"Is_ anyone here?"

Draco, recovering from his surprise, took in her old-fashioned Hogwarts uniform and its Ravenclaw emblem. With what he hoped was a winning smile, he said, "Miss Warren, isn't it?"

"You know my surname!" She was Myrtle Warren, also known as Moaning Myrtle.

"Well, of course I do! But allow me to introduce myself. My name is Draco Malfoy."

Myrtle was intrigued. "The boy they thought was the Heir of Slytherin?"

"The very same. I'm not really the Heir, you know; they just thought I was."

"What are you doing here?"

"I heard Miss Granger left without tidying up."

"She certainly did! She made such a horrible mess. Just look at all the smoke!"

"I'm here to put things in order, but I don't know how to get rid of smoke. Do you?"

"Of course I do! I know a brilliant spell for that. I'm a fourth-year, you know."

She taught him the _Febrizi_ spell, demonstrating the wand movements and pronunciation. She was pleased by his quick comprehension. He cleared the air in the bathroom and repeated the process in the corridor. His spirits rose. He had a real chance now.

Next, he carefully gathered up all the leftover spell ingredients and flushed them down Myrtle's least-favorite toilet.

His anxiety returned when he finished this task and wondered what to do next. He kept seeing Hermione suffering in the hospital wing, her treatment deferred or botched as she and especially the boys told foolish lies that steered Madam Pomfrey wrong …

Pulling himself together, he started cleaning all of Hermione's gear, washing away all traces of the Polyjuice Potion. Draco talked to Myrtle as he worked.

Myrtle was incredibly volatile, raging or bursting into tears at the slightest excuse. Draco poured on as much charm and flattery as he could. It turned out that Myrtle was also quick to smile, especially at the misfortune of others.

Myrtle told the tale of Hermione Granger's Polyjuice Potion Adventure with relish, savoring every morsel of unpleasantness. But Draco had endured far worse from his father and managed to play along.

Myrtle finished by gloating, "And it wasn't Millicent Bulstrode's hair at all, because Hermione turned into a cat! A great, big, human-sized cat! More like a were-cat, if you ask me. All covered with glossy black fur, with big ears sticking up, and a tail! A tail! Can you believe it? It was awful! She was so ashamed! She cried and cried!"

Draco wanted to snarl at Myrtle's glee, but he got himself under control and said mildly, "Must have been a hair from Snowflake. That's Millie's cat."

"But the fur was black!"

"Snowflake's a black cat. Millie has a weird sense of humor."

He bundled up the gear in the spare robes he found on the floor, along with a library copy of _Moste Potent Potions _that Hermione had probably checked out in her own name. He promised himself that he'd give her a course in remedial furtiveness when this was over.

Draco asked, "Miss Warren, where can I hide this stuff?"

"There's a cupboard down the hall that hasn't been opened in ages because they think the key is lost, but it's just on top of molding."

"Brilliant. I wish everyone were as helpful as you." He started to leave, then said, "Say, are you free to move around the castle?"

"Of course I am, silly."

"Could you check the corridor for me? I don't want to meet anyone."

She left and reappeared. "All clear."

"Thanks. I'll be back in a minute."

He locked the evidence in the cupboard, then returned to the bathroom. As he washed his hands, he asked, "Can you nip up to the hospital wing without being seen? I want to check on Miss Granger. I don't want to be seen , except by Madam Pomfrey."

Myrtle returned a moment later. "She's alone now. Professor Snape just left. He was muttering about the perfect Christmas present being the chance to expel Potter and Granger. You saved them!"

_"We_ saved them. Miss Warren, you do me one more favor and keep this whole adventure a secret? Not just my part, but everyone's?"

"Of course I can, if I feel like it. Are you always so formal, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Call me Draco. All my friends do."

"And I'm Myrtle. Stop by my bathroom any time, Draco."

"Thanks. Likewise, I'm sure. And now, Myrtle, I need to be far, far away when Professor Snape gets here. Thanks again. Happy Christmas."

As he left, he realized that he liked Myrtle, even her nasty streak. If her malicious gossip had been about anyone but Hermione, it would have been a laugh riot.

Draco took a roundabout path to the hospital wing and successfully avoided Snape. But when he turned the last corner he saw Ginny walking slowly towards him, her eyes downcast. His heart sank.

Ginny glanced up a moment later and cried, "Snako!" She ran to him. To his surprise, she flung her arms around him. They'd never touched before. He hugged her back and she told him, "She'll make a full recovery. No permanent damage at all."

His relief left him dizzy. Ginny steadied him. When the room became stable again, Draco nodded his thanks, not trusting his voice.

Ginny looked at him, concerned, and said, "You're crying."

"Allergies," he said thickly.

"I'll bet." When he pulled out his handkerchief, she plucked it from his hand and said, "Hold still." She wiped his tears, then did it again because it took him a minute to pull himself together.

Draco said, "Thanks."

Ginny smiled, returning his handkerchief. "It's fun being your frenemy, Snako. You go to pieces in just the right way. But Hermione's gone all to pieces, too, so don't you _dare_ step through those doors until you have confidence enough for two."

"Okay. Did she give you any marching orders?"

"Just to keep Harry and Ron quiet. And no kissing you under the mistletoe."

He was surprised. "Really?"

She blushed. "I didn't want to do it behind her back, so I told her, but … bad timing. And don't get the wrong idea, you snaky Snako!"

He smiled, flattered. "What are frenemies for?" Then a ghastly thought struck him. "Would you be kissing _me_ or pretending to kiss Potter?"

She blushed even deeper and dropped her gaze. She scuffed the floor with the toe of her right shoe. Finally she looked at him shyly and asked, "One of each? Next year?"

"Done." He held out his hand and she shook it, grinning.

"It's just an hour until Christmas dinner, Snake-O-Rama, so cheer her up fast or I'll eat your share." She punched him lightly on the shoulder and ran down the hallway.

Draco watched her go, a delicious idea slowly forming in his mind. Mistletoe, eh? Then he followed her advice, summoned all his confidence, and strode into the infirmary a minute later.

"And what seems to be the trouble, Mr. Malfoy?" asked Madam Pomfrey.

"I'm fine, Madam Pomfrey. How are you?"

"Never better, thank you. You'd be surprised how rarely people ask. Then why are you here?"

"I'd like to visit Miss Granger."

Madam Pomfrey walked over to a bed surrounded by curtains and held a whispered conversation. Eventually she returned and said, "Only if you promise not to peek."

"All right."

Madam Pomfrey escorted him to the curtained area and announced, "Mr. Malfoy."

Draco said to Madam Pomfrey, "I'm visiting incognito, by the way."

"No, you're visiting _secretly,_ young man. If you walk around to the other side of the bed, you can't be seen from the door."

"Thank you."

Madam Pomfrey walked into her office and closed the door.

* * *

Hermione could see Draco's shadow on the curtain. She needed him to go away, she needed him to stay, she needed to tell him everything, she needed to keep it all secret, she needed to hide, she needed to see his face and cry in his arms. She'd never been so confused or unhappy.

He said, "Hermione."

Trying not to cry, she said, "I'm sorry, Draco, I'm so sorry!"

"What for?"

"I just feel so stupid!"

"It's all right, Hermione," he said soothingly. "Everyone makes mistakes; you know that. Except me, of course. How are you?"

She recoiled from the task of explaining the day's events. It was just too much. Hoping against hope, she asked, "Has anyone told you what happened?"

"Miss Warren says you've turned into a cat girl with glossy black fur."

"Who is Miss Warren? Oh, Moaning Myrtle. Yes, that's right. It's horrible, Draco!"

"Let's have a look, then."

"No!" She couldn't face his reaction; she just couldn't.

Draco fell silent, then said, "You're angry with me."

"Of course I'm not! Well, maybe a little … Yes. Yes, I am." She was amazed with herself.

"Would it help if I told you that Miss Warren's bathroom has been de-smoked, the remnants of your Polyjuice Potion flushed away, your equipment hidden, and Crabbe, Goyle, and Miss Warren sworn to secrecy?"

"Really?" It hardly seemed possible. How had he even _found_ Myrtle's bathroom?

"Of course! Happy Christmas. The library's closed today, so I'll return the book first thing tomorrow."

She began to weep. "I'm sorry, Draco," she said again. "I wish you could hold me."

"I'm game. You're not contagious, are you?"

"No, but I don't want you to see me!"

"How long until you're back to your normal self?"

"Weeks."

"Weeks? Out of the question. Recover faster! Wait—are you in any danger?"

"None."

"You can stand? Walk? Brew secret potions in the loo?"

"Malfoy! But yes."

"So they'll discharge you any time."

"I don't want to be seen! It's too humiliating!"

"Tell you what, I'll hug you with my eyes closed."

"That would be even worse!" Hermione changed the subject. "Millicent Bulstrode has a cat, doesn't she?"

"Yes. A black cat named Snowflake."

"A black cat named Snowflake. Does she have a strange sense of humor?"

"Definitely. It's one of her three best features."

"What are the other two?"

"She's about half as clever as you and she can lift a horse in one hand and shoe it with the other."

"Malfoy?" she asked tentatively.

"Hmm?"

"It's … it's hard for me to read or write. My eyes and hands … can you write to my parents?"

"Of course."

"I don't know what to tell them."

"Let me think … how about—just thinking off the top of my head—'Dear Mum and Dad, I've accidentally turned myself into a cat, but it's only temporary and I'm catching delicious mice. Your loving daughter, Hermio-kitty. P.S., send catnip and a ball with a bell inside.'"

"Malfoy!"

"If you don't like that one, we can work on one together."

"You're not going to insist that you can't do a good job without taking a long look at me, are you?"

"Of course not!"

_"Can_ you do a good job without taking a long look at me?"

"Not a chance. You're all gloomy about your condition and the letter will turn their hair white."

She sighed and did perhaps the bravest thing in her whole life. "Duck under the curtain."

Draco did so. She wondered, what did he see? He saw her, of course, sitting up in bed, wearing pajamas, frightened, and with her fingers in her mouth. But, but...

After a long pause, she prompted him, "Well?"

"Wow."

"Is that a good wow or a bad wow?"

"You look _wonderful," _he said.

"Pull the other one." But she could see that he meant it. She took her fingers out of her mouth. Wonderful? Really? No, of course not! But that was Draco all over. To him, she was _always_ beautiful. But … even now? Seriously?

He reached out to touch the sleek black fur on her face. She flinched away, then allowed it. A moment later she leaned forward and caught him in a fierce hug. He said the things he always said when he was pleased with her, and she knew everything would be all right; it really would. Her relief was so profound that she felt it as pure happiness, as bliss.

That was when she began to purr. She didn't mean to. She couldn't stop! She wanted to be angry or offended or embarrassed, but she couldn't remember how! The purring continued. Draco was ecstatic. And he adored her fur, her ears, her whiskers, and her tail. Excessively.

When it was time for him to go, she said sternly, "You can't tell anyone about the purring. Even people who know about everything else. And no snogging Ginny under the mistletoe."

Kissing goodbye was not a success. Her face wasn't the right shape and her lips were too thin. Worse, she was nearly overwhelmed by the urge to lick his face. But the farewell hug was good.

It was the strangest Christmas ever, with the strangest presents. It was a gift to learn that Draco wasn't the Heir of Slytherin, and it was a gift to know how devoted he was to her. They'd played a nasty trick on him with the Polyjuice Potion, and he'd just shrugged it off and done everything he could to protect them. If that wasn't love, what was?

* * *

Draco took a detour to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom on his way to Christmas dinner, bringing a purloined sprig of mistletoe tied to a length of ribbon. He used his wand to send the end of the ribbon aloft, where it glued itself to the ceiling near the door. The mistletoe hung seven feet above the floor.

"What are you doing now?" asked Myrtle.

"Giving you your Christmas present, of course," said Draco cheerfully. "Are you able to close and lock the door?"

Myrtle glared at the door, which seemed almost frightened as it slammed itself shut. The lock clicked.

"Perfect," said Draco. "I'm pretty sure Harry Potter and Ron Weasley will drop by after dinner. They don't know that I've already tidied up. The rest is up to you. Happy Christmas."

Myrtle put her hands on her hips. "Not so fast! That door is still locked, you know."

Draco clapped the back of his hand to his forehead and said with a smirk, "Oh, woe is me! Here I am, standing under the mistletoe, and the door is locked! How will I escape?" He lowered his hand and raised his eyebrows, still smiling.

Myrtle became shy, fleeing into one of the stalls and then peeking out several times by sticking her head through its wall. Finally, without a word, she advanced on him, hesitated, then suddenly kissed him on the lips. Her lips were as cold as ice. He shivered. She fled back to the stall. There was a click as the bathroom door was unlocked. The door creaked open.

Draco left without another word. Just before he closed the door, he heard Myrtle whisper, "Happy, Christmas, Draco."

* * *

Christmas dinner in the Great Hall was noisy and cheerful, with plenty of visiting from one House's tables to the others, especially among the older students. Percy Weasley visited the Ravenclaw table and talked to one of his fellow prefects, Penelope Clearwater, and later in the meal she visited the Gryffindor table, then dropped by the Slytherin table for good measure, where she chatted with the older students.

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle occupied an isolated island, unvisited by anyone until Professor Snape dropped by, saying, "A word, Mr. Malfoy." Crabbe and Goyle hastened out of earshot.

"Happy Christmas, Professor," said Draco genially.

Snape said, "I want to know all about what happened with Miss Granger."

Draco said, "For anything that speeds her recovery or makes her more comfortable, I'm at your disposal."

Snape smiled mirthlessly. "Do not play games with me, Mr. Malfoy."

"I've never been more serious, Professor. I can't offer my undivided loyalty; you know that. But all that I _can_ offer you is yours."

Snape considered this for several seconds, looking directly into Draco's eyes. Draco met his gaze calmly, though he knew Snape could read some of his thoughts this way. He trusted Snape; he always had, ever since he was little.

Snape said, "Very well. I want to know what happened with Harry Potter today."

Smirking, Draco said, "Let's turn and stare at Potter and Weasley until their guilty consciences do our work for us."

"All right," said Snape, nodding in guarded approval.

They glared at Harry and Ron, who noticed a few seconds later. Their jaws dropped. Then Ron turned to Harry and started speaking urgently. A moment later they hurried from the room. Draco would treasure this moment forever.

Snape asked, "What happens next?"

Draco smirked. "They're rushing to their comeuppance. Nothing dangerous, just … educational. This is a school, after all."

Again, Snape gazed at Draco for a long time before replying, "We should talk at greater length, Draco."

"Yes, Uncle Severus. It's time."

"Meet me in my office at ten o'clock tomorrow morning."

"I'll be there."

* * *

Myrtle was crying in her favorite stall. She didn't really believe that the two boys would return. But then the bathroom door banged open and there they were.

Myrtle goggled at them. She couldn't believe it! She jerked her head and the door closed and locked.

Ron looked at her in consternation. "Harry," he said out of the corner of his mouth. "Myrtle's locked us in!"

Harry was looking up. "It's worse than that," he groaned in tones of doom. "There's mistletoe!"

"Happy Christmas, boys," said Myrtle.

Ron looked terrified. He pulled out his Spell-O-Taped wand. "Harry, what spells work on ghosts?"

"What do you want, Myrtle?" asked Harry with a voice that hardly shook at all.

"A kiss under the mistletoe!" said Myrtle. "It's Christmas. It's traditional. And I'm the prettiest girl in the room." She twirled before facing them again.

Ron asked, "Have you ever kissed a boy before?"

Myrtle was furious. "Of course I have! Don't be so horrid!" She resolved not to tell them that her first kiss had been earlier today.

Harry, hero that he was, said, "I'll go first." He stood under the mistletoe. He looked pale and scared, but nodded his head slightly at Myrtle, who maintained eye contact as she drifted up. His eyes were a brilliant green—a girl could lose herself in their depths. Though he was nervous, he wasn't truly reluctant. This would be his first kiss, wouldn't it?

Then she kissed him. Harry shivered at the icy touch of her lips. Oh, how she loved making him shiver!

When the kiss ended, Harry's mouth actually formed the words, "Thank you." It made Myrtle feel strange; she'd never felt this alive when she'd been alive.

Then it was Ron's turn, and he angered her by shuffling into position like a prisoner facing a firing squad. He closed his eyes tight and screwed his mouth into an ugly pucker.

In spite of this, Myrtle kissed Ron just as she'd kissed Harry. Ron shuddered even more than Harry had. That showed him! Then she dove into the U-bend of her favorite toilet, unlocking and opening the door as she fled.

But after a second or two her curiosity got the better of her and she emerged again. The boys were looking around for all the stuff they'd left behind.

"It's all gone," said Ron. "Hermione must have sent somebody. Come on, let's get out of here." As they left, he added, "You know, that wasn't so bad."

Moaning Myrtle was the goddess of love.

* * *

The next day, Draco told Crabbe and Goyle, "I can't tell you the details, but that little prank with the cakes and the closet has been avenged. Has it ever! And the best thing is, they'll never mention it to a soul as long as they live."

* * *

_[Next: The Not-So Secret Valentine]_

_[Please Follow, favorite, and review! I'd love to hear from you. What would you like to see in later chapters?]_


	21. The Not-So-Secret Valentine

**The Not-So-Secret Valentine**

To: Mr. and Mrs. Granger  
From: Draco Malfoy  
Late Evening, Christmas Day, 1992

Dear Grangers,

I hear that a letter was sent to you from the Hogwarts infirmary. Don't believe a word it says: your daughter is better than ever.

_[Granger says: "Malfoy! That's not true! You're the only one who thinks that! And you shouldn't be telling people!"]_

To summarize: Granger mysteriously came across a dose of the Polyjuice Potion in a way that (I assume) didn't break any school rules at all. What is Polyjuice Potion? It transforms one person into another. Just add a bit of the target person to the mixture. Nothing disgusting: a single hair will do. The potion soon wears off.

The possibilities are endless. Try not to think about them.

_[Granger says: "Don't write that down! It wasn't like that at all!"]_

Correct. It wasn't, So _why_ did Granger want to transform into an entirely different girl? Brilliant question! And the answer a credit to her intellect and goodness—and hardly incriminating at all. Someone ought to tell you about it some day.

Through her own carelessness, the hair Granger added to the potion was not from the person she wanted to become for a single glorious hour, but …

_[Granger just threw a pillow at me! Is that any way to behave? Who raised this child?]_

… but from a cat. The potion's effect with non-human targets is unpredictable. Granger is temporarily a lovely cat girl, the same size as before, with big triangular ears, a lovely tail, whiskers, and sleek black fur. It's a definite improvement.

_[Granger says: "Malfoy, you're laying it on too thick! You can't say that! You're being mean and it's not true!"]_

It _is_ true. Every word. Sadly, the poor child finds it humiliating. She dreads the chaffing she'd receive if she went out holding her head and tail high, so she'll stay in the hospital wing until she's back to normal (for her). We're making her comfortable.

_[Granger says, "Comfortable? You won't stop teasing and petting me. Don't write down 'petting'! It has a slang meaning!"]_

Pardon her delirium. Where was I? The Granger Danger Meter is hovering around zero because her condition isn't dangerous. She still has what few marbles she ever had. She'll slowly return to her delightful, adorable, brilliant, pity-about-the-hair human form over the next few weeks.

The … incident … happened this afternoon. The people who know about Granger's condition are myself, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Ginny Weasley—plus several staff members, of course. Oh, and one ghost.

Weaselette knows about us, while Potter and Weasley #6 still think Granger and I aren't on speaking terms. We're all devoted to Granger.

_[Granger says "I'm surprised you'll admit that about Ron and Harry," but I'm not an idiot. She says, "You're not a _complete_ idiot."]_

Granger reminds me that I haven't said why I'm playing scribe. Her eyes are a bit too catlike for comfortable reading and her difficulty writing gives her pause—or, more accurately, the paws give her difficulty writing.

_[Granger says, "Malfoy! That pun is rubbish! I hate you!"]_

It's been a memorable Christmas. Happy? Not entirely. But any Christmas with Granger is better than one without. It's certainly the _strangest_ Christmas we've ever had.

Your most faithful correspondent,

Draco Malfoy

P.S. I promise that Hermione will be all right. She really will. The experts are certain of this.

P.P.S. This letter makes her laugh. It's not _all_ throwing pillows at me and burying her face in her hands.

P.P.P.S. Granger loves you and misses you and says, "Please please _please_ don't visit."

* * *

The next morning, Draco arrived at Snape's office on the stroke of ten.

Snape said, "Good morning, Mr. Malfoy. Close the door."

"Good morning, sir," said Draco, doing so.

Snape looked him over and said, "It's time I gave you private lessons. We'll start today."

Draco pulled out a quill and a slip of parchment and drew a line. "That's item two taken care of."

Snape smiled thinly. "What was item one?"

"A hall pass that lets me visit Miss Granger after hours in the hospital wing."

"I trust you've already drafted it?"

Draco pulled out a second slip of parchment and handed it to Snape.

_I, Professor Severus Snape, authorize Draco Malfoy to travel the Hogwarts corridors outside of normal hours. Any questions should be referred to me and not to Mr. Malfoy._

Snape read it without expression, signed it, handed it back, and said, "It doesn't specify a destination."

Draco drew a line through the first item on his list and said, "There's only one patient in the hospital wing—only one who isn't petrified, that is. The destination would give the whole game away."

"So it would." Snape scowled at Draco. "And what pretext should I give for granting this extraordinary freedom?"

"An icy stare would satisfy almost everyone."

Snape gave a bark of laughter. "And what about the Headmaster and the Deputy Headmistress?"

"The Headmaster will know without asking. As for Professor McGonagall … either she's in the know or she'll ask you to explain. The truth seems adequate."

Snape nodded. "If there are more attacks, this note makes you a suspect, and also myself."

"Another reason to stop the attacks."

"Doesn't that conflict with your instructions?"

"Not a bit. I'm required to be loudly obnoxious about Muggle-borns while avoiding the actual dirty work. That's easy, since I don't know anything about it. But Father didn't forbid me from loyally defending Hogwarts. You can count me in."

Snape gave Draco a long, long stare; the kind that reduced most students to quivering wrecks. Draco waited patiently. Snape asked abruptly, "Anything else before we begin our lesson?"

Draco looked at his slip of parchment. "Two points. First, I'm allowed to reveal my instructions to you, so I'm not being indiscreet. Second, Hermione Granger is under my protection. An attack on her is an attack on me. I won't forget any unnecessary trouble that comes her way."

Snape observed darkly, "That is exceedingly bold talk from a twelve-year-old boy, Draco."

"Why, thank you, Uncle Severus!"

Snape smiled briefly and said, "Where would you like to start?"

"How about the skills a Dueling Club could have given me? I need to stay in one piece if I'm going to learn everything you'd like to teach me."

"Very well," said Snape. He looked around his office, which was full of breakables. "Let's find a better practice area."

* * *

Hermione Granger was a serious-minded girl. A _very_ serious-minded girl. She wasn't humorless like Percy Weasley, but she'd never gotten the hang of frivolity. She had the wrong personality for a cat girl! Especially a cat girl who purred uncontrollably when petted.

Admittedly, the first week wasn't so bad. It was still the holidays and Hogwarts was almost deserted, so her terror of being seen and humiliated wasn't triggered.

Catlike, she slept a great deal, so she wasn't as bored as she might have been. She became a little more human every day.

Even Draco's excessive delight in her feline form had its good points, though she secretly feared that his interest in her would plummet when she was fully herself again.

One development she didn't like was that Draco no longer become confused when she worried that he was attracted to other girls. Those days were gone. He was growing up and knew perfectly well that he was attracted to girls. But he remained convinced that Hermione, in whatever form, was the most beautiful girl in the world; other girls couldn't compete. But would this last? After all, no one but Draco had ever called Hermione beautiful. Hardly anyone had even called her pretty. Was his devotion nothing but inexperience?

Plenty of girls fancied Draco, including Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson. Others were comfortable with him, like Ginny Weasley. Ginny shared his love for Quidditch lore; the more obscure, the better, so they always had something to quarrel over. His eyes always smiled during these arguments. It was worrisome!

It didn't help that Ginny looked so much better these days. She claimed to be sticking to her resolution to not do any work or write in her diary during the holidays. The circles under her eyes were gone and she no longer looked pale and tired. Her nervousness had also evaporated, and she was as comfortable around Draco as she was with Hermione.

Later that day, Draco and Ginny arrived together in the hospital wing. Hermione, sitting on her bed, ambushed Draco by asking him right away, "Malfoy, is Ginny pretty?"

He looked at Ginny, who stood to attention and tried to keep a straight face without much success. Draco walked around her slowly, making "hmm" noises, plus the occasional "tsk, tsk." When he was in front of her again, he demanded, "Open your mouth. I need to inspect your teeth," but she clamped her mouth shut and shook her head. Eventually, Draco reported, "Pity about her brain, but yes, she's pretty."

"Oh, like you're any judge!" said Ginny. "You think all the girls you like are pretty."

Draco looked to Hermione for support. "She's pretty, right?"

"Of course she is," said Hermione.

"Let's be scientific," said Ginny. "We can't decide that Snako has taste, or eyes, unless we do a cross-check."

"I'm cross. Check." said Draco.

The girls didn't dignify this with an answer. Ginny asked, "Is Millicent Bulstrode pretty?"

Reluctantly, Draco said, "No, she's not."

"Pansy Parkinson," said Hermione.

Draco's eyebrows went up, then he answered, "Yes, she's pretty. Quite pretty, really. Though if anyone passed the hat to buy her a one-way rocket trip to the moon, I'd pay my share. And Hermione Granger is beautiful."

"He actually has taste," reported Ginny.

"That's a bit of a shock," said Hermione, "but he's exaggerating when he calls me beautiful."

Ginny looked critically at cat-girl Hermione but was overcome by giggles.

Draco got down on one knee and took Hermione's … _hand,_ not paw, she reminded herself firmly. Never mind the retractable claws—which she suspected she'd want to use in a moment.

Draco looked into her eyes soulfully and said, "There's no one like you, Granger. The tilt of your head, the twitch of your whiskers, the swish of your tail, the yellow of your eyes, the rasp of your tongue—"

"Malfoy!" Someone with a dirty mind could take that last part the wrong way! Though Draco wouldn't know that.

Ginny was convulsed with laughter, or pretended to be. She fell face-first onto the adjacent bed, pounding the mattress with hands and feet and laughing into the pillow.

Draco took Hermione's pillow and started thwacking Ginny on the back of the head. She leaped to her feet, grabbed her own pillow, and thus the pillow fight began. Draco chivalrously tossed Hermione's pillow back to her and endured a savage pummeling from Ginny as he groped for a pillow from another bed.

Hermione waded in. It was a three-way battle, with no alliances, truces, or quarter. It was conducted with energy, courage, and shrieks of laughter.

Madam Pomfrey appeared after they'd more or less had enough anyway, and they subsided, panting. Madam Pomfrey left without a word, her lips twitching.

* * *

Hermione became less catlike by the day, but slowly. Draco read books to her and took notes for her, but mostly they talked and talked. She told him everything about her Polyjuice Potion adventure, including the Filibuster Firework that Harry had thrown into Goyle's cauldron during Potions. She told him every detail of their defeat of Quirrell and Lord Voldemort the previous June. She kept just a few things to herself, most notably the existence of Harry's invisibility cloak and the activities of Dobby the House-Elf. She felt that these weren't her secrets to tell.

The introduction of Lord Voldemort into the narrative stunned Draco, who hadn't realized that the stakes had been so high. It also magnified his envy of Harry. He was plunged into gloom, but recovered on New Year's Eve. Hermione and Draco kissed at midnight, ushering in the new year. Her face and mouth had become more normal and kissing was enjoyable again.

"This is going to be the best year ever," said Draco smugly.

"That's what you said last year!"

"I was right, wasn't I?"

Hermione looked back over 1992. So many dreadful things had happened! And yet … "You're right," she said. "But not so perfect that we can't do even better this year."

* * *

The Hogwarts Express had returned and filled the school with students. The normal pace of life resumed for everyone. Well, everyone but Hermione and the three cold, still, petrified bodies of Mrs. Norris, Colin Creevey, and Justin Finch-Fletchley.

News of Hermione's hospitalization got around and students dropped into the hospital wing on one pretext or another to get a glimpse of her, but Madam Pomfrey had curtained off two small sections of the infirmary: one for the petrified victims and another for Hermione.

Lockhart returned with the students and Hermione received a get-well card from him, complete with a photo and an ornate signature. She was delighted. She showed it to Draco right away, since that was their agreement. He made no comment, but insisted on reading it in a dramatic voice: "To Miss Granger, wishing you a speedy recovery, from your concerned teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award."

January passed quickly and Hermione became less catlike. Draco visited every day, usually after hours, and they worked on their schoolwork side by side as usual. Harry and Ron also visited every day.

She was discharged on the first of February, looking like her normal self, and Harry immediately ambushed her with a clue about the Heir of Slytherin and the attacks by telling her about the fifty-year-old diary of T. M. Riddle.

The diary was blank, but Hermione assumed it contained secret writing. She tried different ways of revealing it but found nothing.

Ron mentioned that he'd seen T. M. Riddle's name on a special award in the trophy room, and they went to take a look. Hermione didn't tell them that she'd heard the name before: Tom Riddle had held the record for first-year exam scores until Draco had tied it and she had shattered it.

The mandrakes were coming along nicely, though they were still months from maturity, and most students had convinced themselves that the attacks were over. Lockhart seemed to believe that he had personally frightened the attacker away somehow. Hermione and Draco declared their library research completed in early February: they'd reached the bottom of their list of potentially useful books and found nothing.

* * *

On Valentine's Day, Hermione went down to breakfast with Ron and Ginny. They came to a halt at the entrance to the Great Hall.

Ron said, "This is a nightmare."

Pink confetti was falling from the ceiling. The walls were decorated with pink flowers. Gilderoy Lockhart was wearing robes in the same shade of pink. The other staff members were stiff and wooden with disapproval.

"Could it be any more awful?" added Ron. They went to the Gryffindor table and sat down, still looking around in disbelief.

Ginny asked, "Is it always like this?" They assured her that today's spectacle was unique.

Harry joined them. He looked so appalled that Hermione started giggling.

Then they all heard Draco's loud, happy drawl. Pointing at Lockhart's pink robes, he said, "Look, everyone! Lockhart's wearing _Gryffindor_ colors! A bit faded perhaps, but his heart's in the right place."

There were some mutters from the Gryffindor table. Draco continued, "Maybe it'll start a trend. The Gryffindor boys will look _fabulous_ in pink."

The Gryffindor boys rose as one, but Draco's timing had been perfect. Gilderoy Lockhart stood and began an announcement. The Gryffindor boys sat down reluctantly.

Lockhart wished them all a happy Valentine's Day and bragged about having received forty-six valentines already.

"Please, Hermione," said Ron in tones of fascinated horror, "tell me you weren't one of the forty-six."

Hermione ignored him. She was worried. Yes, she had send Lockhart a valentine. But she hadn't sent one to Draco. Why did she keep doing this? She was the worst girlfriend ever!

The room went silent. Everyone was staring in disbelief at the dozen angry-looking dwarfs entering the Great Hall. They were dressed in nappies and fake wings and carrying harps; an appalling sight. Hermione glanced at Draco, wondering if he'd rise to the occasion, but he just shoved his plate away in revulsion. The dwarfs had taken away his appetite.

Lockhart announced delightedly, "My friendly, card-carrying cupids! They'll be roving around the school today delivering your valentines!"

Lockhart continued talking, but Hermione was distracted by Ginny, who clearly wanted to send Harry a valentine in the worst way, and the worst way was close at hand.

Fred and George looked like they'd been given their hearts' desire and practically ran from the Great Hall to prepare who knew what.

Back in the common room, Hermione composed a valentine to Draco. It read:

* * *

Malfoy,

You disgust me. I hate you. Is there anything more detestable than you? Of course not! That would be impossible!

_Roses are red,  
Violets are purple,  
This poem is more  
Than you deserple._

Happy valentine's day!

You'll Never Guess Who

P.S. Pink is _not_ a Gryffindor color!

* * *

She left for class early, hoping to find a dwarf in an empty stretch of corridor. Rather to her surprise, her plan worked perfectly, and the dwarf took her valentine with no one the wiser.

Later in the day, Hermione was accosted by a dwarf. "I got a valentine for Harm Irony Granger. You Harm Irony Granger?"

Hermione reached out her hand and took the valentine without a word, and the dwarf departed.

* * *

Granger,

What a repulsive child you are! But I'll take pity on you. Here is the first and only valentine you'll ever receive from anyone. I hope you're grateful.

_Rust is red,  
Gunmetal's blue,  
Iron's ironic,  
I steel hate you._

May the rest of the day fill you heart with … um, blood? Too literal. Candy? Too hard on the arteries. Cupid's arrow? Ouch! Cardiology is hard!

With deepest revulsion,

The Unknown Critic

P.S. Your hair! Enough said.

* * *

Late in the afternoon, Hermione was walking to Charms with Ron and Harry, when a dwarf shouted, "Oi! you! Harry Potter!" The dwarf shoved through the crowd towards them.

Harry turned to run but it was too late; the dwarf was upon him. "I've got a musical message to deliver to Harry Potter in person," threatened the dwarf, producing chords of doom on his harp.

"Not here!" pleaded Harry. Hermione glanced around. A group of first-years, including Ginny, was standing right next to them, and Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were almost within arm's reach.

"Stay still!" demanded the dwarf, grabbing for Harry and managing to get hold of his bag.

"Let me go!" cried Harry, struggling to escape. His bag split its seams and spilled all its contents. Somehow his ink bottle managed to break and spatter over his books and parchment.

As Harry frantically gathered up his things, Draco asked happily, "What's going on here?"

At almost the same moment, Percy Weasley arrived on the scene and asked, "What's all this commotion?"

Harry tried to make a run for it, but the dwarf tackled him and sat on top of him, declaring, "Right! here's your singing valentine:

_His eyes are as green as a fresh-pickled toad.  
His hair is as dark as a blackboard.  
I wish he was mine; he's really divine,  
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord."_

As the dwarf sang, Hermione looked around. Draco was grinning, his eyes gleaming. Ginny was bright red. Harry stoically endured his fate.

At the end of the song, everyone cheered and applauded. Some, including Draco, cried, "Encore! Encore!" Percy tried to get the crowd moving again.

Draco stooped and picked a slim book off the floor. Hermione realized with horror that it was Tom Riddle's diary. "Look at this," he said loudly, ostensibly to Crabbe and Goyle. But he hadn't opened the diary yet.

Harry said, "Give that back."

"Wonder what Potter's written in this?" said Draco loudly, trying not to laugh.

Percy said, "Hand it over, Malfoy."

In a slow, offensive drawl, Malfoy said, "When I've had a look." But instead of looking, he waved the diary over his head at Harry.

Percy started, "As a school prefect—"

Harry commanded, _"Expelliarmus!" _The diary shot into the air. He'd drawn his wand when Hermione wasn't looking. Ron, grinning, caught it on its way down.

Draco scowled at Harry as if furious, but his eyes were dancing and he was struggling not to laugh.

The line of first-years was moving and Ginny had to walk right past Draco to enter her classroom. She looked more frightened than embarrassed. Draco suddenly called to her, "I don't think Potter liked your valentine much!" Ginny covered her face with her hands and fled into the classroom.

Ron, furious, pulled out his wand to curse Draco, but Harry stopped him. Hermione rushed to join them, calm them down, and keep them moving. They were late for class and didn't need any more trouble.

* * *

By dinnertime everyone was talking about Fred and George's valentines. Of course, they denied everything, but nobody believed that poor, petrified Colin Creevey had _really_ sent a love-struck valentine to Luna Lovegood, a Ravenclaw first-year.

On the other hand, both Cho Chang and Marcus Flint believed the forgeries they'd received, each expressing love for the other, leading to a monumentally awkward conversation at dinner.

And even Professor Lockhart's polished good nature became frayed as dwarfs delivered forged valentines to him during every class. The dwarfs always bellowed out every word on the envelope, and many envelopes bore addresses like, "To Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, with slavish and worshipful devotion from his first and greatest fan, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart."

After dinner, Hermione met Draco in the library. As they sat together in the window seat, she asked, "What was all that with the diary?"

"You tell me. I was just winding him up, but Potter took it big."

"Yes, I saw."

"So what's up with the diary?"

"I can't tell you, Malfoy."

"Do you _want_ to tell me?"

She couldn't meet his gaze. "I don't know."

"Ouch."

"I'm sorry, Malfoy. It's … I don't … I'll tell you as soon as I can. I promise."

"Really, Granger! Just because you have every reason not to trust me doesn't mean you shouldn't trust me."

"It does too! But I _do_ trust you! Mostly. Almost completely."

He forced a smile. "That's my girl."

Reluctantly, she said, "And you were horrid to Ginny."

"I can't break character in front of so many witnesses."

Hermione sighed. "I suppose."

Ginny soon arrived. She approached hesitantly.

Draco stood and said, "I have a valentine for you, Weasel Girl."

"Do you have a death wish or something?"

"Probably." Draco pulled an envelope out of his bag.

"Show it to Hermione first," said Ginny.

Draco handed it to Hermione, who opened the envelope and read the card inside.

* * *

Weasel Girl,

Happy Valentine's Day!

Your Very Best Frenemy

P.S. I dare you to forgive me.

* * *

Hermione passed it to Ginny without comment. Ginny read it and rolled her eyes. "Snako, you're the worst."

"That goes without saying."

"Do you really think I can forgive you after what you did?"

"You're the Amazing Weasel Girl! A superhero like you can do anything!"

"Well, that's true … Oh, all right. But you'd better watch yourself, Snako. Justice never sleeps."

The next day, Harry told Hermione that Tom Riddle's diary was magical, and he'd conversed with it and been shown a scene from fifty years ago. Hagrid had been caught with a huge spider and blamed for the petrifications and the death of a student.

Was Hagrid behind the attacks? Hagrid? It hardly seemed possible! But he was their only suspect.

* * *

_[Next: The Chamber of Secrets]_

_[Thanks for reading! Please follow, favorite and review!]_


	22. The Chamber of Secrets

**The Chamber of Secrets**

Draco strode onto the Quidditch field with the Slytherin team. The crowd roared, mostly with boos, since the Slytherins were unpopular with the other Houses. Then the Ravenclaw team appeared to rapturous cheers. It was a blustery Saturday in late February, with a threat of rain.

Draco sized up Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker. She seemed utterly calm and businesslike. Their eyes met but she didn't react.

Then the game began. Soon Draco saw the Golden Snitch and raced after it. Chang was on his tail in an instant, though she'd been flying in the other direction. It was as if she had eyes in the back of her head!

Draco got closer to the Snitch when it was flying straight while Chang gained when it changed direction. The Snitch weaved right through a group of players near the Ravenclaw goal. By the time Draco made it past them, it had vanished.

Chang saw it first the second time. The Golden Snitch was skimming just above the grass. Draco saw her dive and spotted the Snitch almost at once. He dived, too. Chang's dive took her so low that when she pulled up, her broom's bristles swept the grass and she was almost thrown. Draco shot past her and followed the Snitch as it zigzagged a foot from the ground. He misjudged a particularly tight turn and lost a few inches of altitude. The next thing he knew, he was rolling over and over on the grass, still clinging to his broom. Within seconds he was airborne again, but the Snitch had disappeared.

The third time Draco spotted the Snitch far above him, gleaming in a brief ray of sunlight. He climbed almost vertically, leaving Chang and her less powerful broom behind, but the Snitch dove before he reached it. He plunged in a power dive, but Chang anticipated the Snitch's movements, put out a hand, and caught it effortlessly. She took a victory lap around the field as three-quarters of the students leaped to their feet and cheered.

Draco had played two games and lost two games. He'd never set a finger on the Snitch. By the time he landed, he was sunk in gloom.

To his surprise, Marcus Flint slapped him on the back as they walked off the field, "That was good flying, Malfoy. You'll catch it next time."

Draco spent the rest of the day walking on air.

* * *

Hermione became frantic when it was time to choose her electives for next year. She wanted to take every class, but that was impossible!

When she met Draco in the library, she said, "Malfoy, I need your advice."

"Well, of course you do! Tell Uncle Draco everything."

"It's next year's electives. I want to take more classes than are physically possible!"

"Me, too. Make sure you take Care of Magical Creatures. And Potions, of course. We'll be together in those."

"But you're so horrid to me in class!"

"I know, but maybe my instructions will be better next year. Then you can suddenly discover my good points and all will be well."

"And what will you do?"

"The same, but with more style, of course."

"All right. But that doesn't solve my problem."

"Take it to McGonagall. She has a soft spot in her head for you. So do most of the teachers. They'll be happy to bury you under extra work."

"What about you?"

"I'll continue my private lessons with Snape, but feel free to tempt me if you find something good. We're not spending anywhere near enough time together."

She smiled at him. "I'll do my best."

* * *

The weeks flew by. McGonagall, after a week's delay, told Hermione that her schedule was approved, even though it sometimes required that she be in three places at once. When Hermione asked about this, McGonagall became evasive, telling Hermione only that all would become clear in September.

The day before the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff game, Harry reported that his possessions had been ransacked and that Tom Riddle's diary was missing. Fortunately, his invisibility cloak had been overlooked and his Nimbus 2000 had been in the Gryffindor broom shed.

Hermione was appalled. "But only a Gryffindor could have stolen—nobody else knows our password!"

"Exactly," said Harry.

Then Hermione remembered that, last year, Draco had known the Gryffindor password on the night of their terrifying detention in the Forbidden Forest. The Gryffindors had become more careful after she'd passed the word, but she'd have to ask Draco if it passwords were still leaking.

She didn't suspect Draco himself. He was relaxed with her these days, which he wasn't when she had any reason to be upset with him. Well, any reason other than the usual.

At breakfast, Hermione couldn't resist pressuring Harry to report the theft, but to the extent that he could focus on anything but today's Quidditch match, he resisted the idea.

Harry left to collect his Quidditch gear. Ron and Hermione accompanied him. Suddenly Harry shouted. "The voice! I just heard it again! Didn't you?"

Hermione hadn't heard a voice. But she _had_ heard a low-pitched hissing. Parseltongue! She clapped a hand to her forehead. How could she have been so stupid?

"Harry," she said, "I think I've just understood something. I've got to go to the library!" She turned and ran.

In the library, she pulled a book from the shelf. It was about communicating with animals, and it had a chapter about Parseltongue. She'd skimmed it when she learned that Harry was a Parselmouth. She flipped the pages. Yes, here it was. Not just ordinary snakes, but _magical_ snakes spoke Parseltongue; for example, Basilisks. A lengthy footnote that she'd skipped last time gave a description of Basilisks. It was death to look them straight in the eye, but if you saw only its reflection, or the view was obscured, as with smoke, _you became petrified instead. _That was the answer! Slytherin's monster was a Basilisk!

What to do? What to do? She absent-mindedly put the book back on the shelf as she frantically considered her options. Harry had heard the monster speaking, so the Basilisk was on the move _right now._ There wasn't any time! She had to raise the alarm—tell Madam Pince, at least. She looked around and saw Penelope Clearwater, one of the Ravenclaw prefects, leaving the library. Penelope was Muggle-born!

"Penelope!" she called. "Wait!"

She explained. Penelope grasped the situation instantly. "It's on the hunt right now?" she asked.

"Yes."

They looked for Madam Pince and even called her name loudly. Apparently they had the library to themselves.

Penelope said, "If we meet its gaze, we're dead, but if we see its reflected gaze, we'll just be petrified for a couple of months?"

"That's right."

Penelope reached into her bag and pulled out a small, round mirror, and said grimly, "Let's go. We'll scan each corridor before we enter it and head to the Quidditch pitch and tell everyone."

"Okay," said Hermione, impressed. "If you hear something behind us, don't look back. Just run."

"Good idea," said Penelope.

They ran to the library door, then Penelope used her mirror to scan the corridor. "All clear," she said.

They hurried quietly to the next corner. Penelope handed Hermione the mirror. "Your turn."

Hermione took the mirror and slowly moved it out to show a view down the corridor. Penelope watched over her shoulder.

Hermione saw the head of a gigantic snake just a few feet away. She tried to look away, but her eyes were drawn to the reflection of the huge yellow eyes in the mirror. She felt a stab of unbearable pain in her eyes. It spread through her body in an instant, and she knew no more.

* * *

Draco knocked on the door of the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey opened it just a crack, saw that it was him, and let him in without a word, bolting the door behind him.

He stumbled to where the petrified students were kept, and there she was, lying on a hospital bed. Her expression was intent and purposeful, but her eyes were unseeing. He reached out and touched her cold, stiff cheek.

He didn't weep; not yet. Was he in shock? He stroked her hair, which, like her clothes, hadn't been affected by the petrification, and spoke to her.

"You'd have been proud of me, Granger," he said. "I ran straight to the library to see what book you'd been looking at. I didn't find a thing. No books left out, nothing in your study room, no new notes. Because you figured it out, didn't you? Of course you did. You went to the library to confirm your hunch, and on the way back you used a mirror to look around corners, but you got petrified anyway. What does it mean, Granger? What did you read? Why did the mirror fail? Tell me! A girl like you won't let a little thing like petrification hold you back."

He continued stroking her hair, not noticing that his tears had begun to flow. "We'll take good care of you. This place is a fortress, and the Mandrakes will be ready by the end of term. I'll visit you every day, Granger. You'll be as good as new, I promise. You'd better be!"

He dried his tears and said, "It's not going to be easy, you know, promoting myself from Dr. Watson to Sherlock Holmes. I'll do my best, Granger. I'll make you proud of me."

Madam Pomfrey had already gone through Hermione's pockets. Their contents were sitting on the bedside table. There were no clues. She'd done it all in her head.

Soon Snape arrived to escort Draco back. Snape hesitantly put a hand on Draco's shoulder. Draco nodded his thanks, and without a word they returned to the Slytherin common room through the empty, echoing corridors.

Draco wanted desperately to swear vengeance against whoever had done this to Hermione, but he didn't dare. Such an oath would have weight and power; it could trigger spells and activate curses.

Draco was convinced that Destiny was working to extinguish the House of Malfoy, especially by maneuvering Draco into destroying his father and himself. And Father was involved in the attacks, wasn't he? He'd instructed Draco to publicly heap the Mudbloods with abuse weeks before the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. All his other instructions had followed events, but this one had anticipated them. It only took one slip to give the game away.

What did Father think he was doing?

* * *

To Mr. and Mrs. Granger  
From Draco Malfoy  
March 13, 1993

Grangers,

I'm so sorry. I had no idea anything was happening until after it was over.

I just returned from visiting Hermione in the hospital wing. Petrification is deeper than a coma, so I don't suppose she knew I was there, but she'd want me to tell you not to worry; she'll be fine. The cure for petrification is complete and reliable. All this is true.

Hermione must have known that another attack was imminent. She was using a mirror to peer around corners as she worked her way back from the library to raise the alarm. But I don't know how she knew about the attack or why she used a mirror.

Don't visit. It wouldn't be safe.

Hermione would want me to tell you that I'm fine, or that I will be soon, or _something_ to keep you from worrying. I can't say any of that. My friends are taking good care of me.

I don't think I can write any more.

Draco

* * *

Professor McGonagall announced at breakfast that Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge arrested Hagrid for the attacks. Without actually saying so, she gave the impression that Hagrid had been chosen at random and the attacks would no doubt continue. Hence, none of the new precautions would be lifted. No students would be allowed in the corridors unless escorted by a teacher, all evening activities were canceled, and so was Quidditch.

Draco added to the buzz of conversation by asking indignantly, "Who's going to feed Fang?" He liked Hagrid's big boarhound, and even if he didn't, the dog still needed to be fed and walked.

McGonagall went on to tell them that the Board of Governors had temporarily suspended Professor Dumbledore, who was no longer on the premises. As Deputy Headmistress, McGonagall would be carrying on.

Marcus Flint said, "They got rid of Dumbledore because they're hoping that he's the only one powerful enough to keep the criminal from coming into the open. I'll bet the criminal isn't even a Slytherin."

Millie said, "Everybody knows that Harry Potter is the Heir of Slytherin. The person doing the attacks is an imposter. A maniac."

"But Potter's in Gryffindor!" said someone.

A sixth-year boy said, "Lots of people are in the wrong houses. It's obvious. Don't tell _me_ that Cedric Diggory belongs in Hufflepuff."

Another boy said, "Anyway, _Hagrid_ can't be the Heir of Slytherin! How stupid does Fudge think we are? And Granger is Potter's girlfriend, isn't she? Potter and his supporters will be howling for vengeance."

"McGonagall, for one," said a boy.

"The Weasley twins," said another glumly.

"Lockhart," said a third, which got some chuckles.

Flint added, "And everyone will blame it all on Slytherin House, just because some idiot said 'Heir of Slytherin' as a red herring."

They were interrupted by the arrival of owls with the morning post. One delivered a letter to Draco.

* * *

To Draco Malfoy  
From Lucius Malfoy, Malfoy Manor  
March 14, 1993

My son,

Follow these instructions well:

Continue to publicly point out the undesirability of Mudbloods at Hogwarts. Claim that you guess that future attacks will result in their deaths.

Express satisfaction at Dumbledore's removal. He is the worst headmaster in Hogwarts history.

Reject the claim that Hagrid is the guilty party.

Do nothing to tie Harry Potter's name to the attacks. It's not true and it just confuses the issue.

Severus lacks ambition, but hint publicly that he would be an excellent replacement for Dumbledore.

Remember that Severus has unsound views about Mudbloods, so be careful what you say about them in his presence. He reports great satisfaction with your progress, by the way. This is the first time in years that I have heard him express satisfaction about anything, so you are doing very well indeed.

I was sorry to hear that Quidditch has been canceled. I wish I had been there for your last game. Marcus Flint was not the only one who wrote to tell me about your excellent and fearless Seeking.

Malfoy

* * *

Draco read it through twice. It was the first praise he had received from his father in as long as he could remember, and it pleased him more than he expected. For once it felt good to be Lucius Malfoy's son!

The instructions weren't _too_ bad. The ugly ones were repetitions of existing instructions, except the one about disparaging Dumbledore. What was the point? No one had any respect for Draco's political views: badmouthing Dumbledore would be as deadly as stabbing him with cardboard knife. Except that Dumbledore had been kind to Draco, so insulting him was going to hurt.

* * *

At lunch, Draco walked right up to the staff table and told McGonagall that Fang needed to be fed and walked at least twice a day, and volunteered to help.

Filch muttered some nasty things under his breath, but McGonagall agreed with Draco at once. Several other students volunteered, along with staff members who welcomed the exercise and an hour outside the castle. Draco found himself scheduled to feed and walk Fang three mornings a week. He was teamed up with Neville Longbottom, who shared his possibly unjustified fondness for Fang after that night in the Forbidden Forest. They were escorted by Madam Hooch, who spent most of her time in the air.

The new routine required that students be escorted everywhere. Students were escorted to meals and to class. There was a well-attended sick call after breakfast every morning, and students were escorted to the hospital wing. Headaches, stomachaches, insomnia, and other stress-related complaints had skyrocketed. Students were also escorted to and from the library at intervals during the day. Draco soon discovered that the key to his private study room worked on the library's locked and largely forgotten back door.

Draco ignored morning sick call and made his way to the hospital wing alone almost every afternoon. Usually he read to the petrified students from a book of fairy tales he'd loved when he was younger, then he helped Madam Pomfrey with a few of her chores. When it was time for him to leave, he said goodbye to each of the victims in turn, eventually including Nearly Headless Nick, whom Draco had forgotten at first because he was stowed in a closet to keep him from drifting. Just before leaving, he petted Mrs. Norris and told her she was a good kitty and stroked Hermione's hair and whispered that he loved her. Then he took empty back halls to the library. He was only caught once, by Professor Flitwick, who rolled his eyes at Snape's note and let Draco proceed.

It was weeks before Ginny appeared in the library while Draco was there. When she saw him, she began to run to him, but he raised a hand to stop her, then put a finger to his lips, then beckoned her to follow him. He took her to his private study room.

When he closed the door, she asked, "Can I hug you now?" He nodded, and she clung to him and wept.

He wanted to say the comforting things he always said to Hermione, but he knew it would break him down. It wasn't his turn.

She didn't cry for long. After she wiped her eyes and blew her nose, they looked into each other's faces. Draco saw that her paleness and the dark circles under her eyes had returned, and she looked strained and tired. It was like looking in a mirror.

He said, "You look terrible, Weasel Girl."

She replied, "You know what I like about you, Snako?"

"My stamp collection? My irresistible charm?"

"The way you never tell me I'm silly to be upset and there's nothing to be afraid of."

"That would be stupid. And it's not like I'm acting with my usual nonchalance myself."

You _do_ look like a bit like a three-day corpse, but I'm too polite to mention it. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You can tell me what you know about the run-up to Hermione's petrification."

"Well, Ron _finally_ told me that Harry said he heard the monster talking to itself _again,_ then Hermione had a brainstorm and ran off to the library. She didn't say what the brainstorm was."

"Potter heard the monster _talking?_"

"Yes. Ron and Hermione were right next to him but they didn't hear anything. It wasn't the first time, either."

Potter was a Parselmouth, so the monster must be some kind of snake, right? That was news to him. He asked, "Did they see anything?"

"No."

"Where was this?"

"Near Gryffindor tower, after breakfast."

"So the monster pursued Granger most of the way across the castle without being seen?"

"Something like that."

* * *

Draco spent the rest of the day trying to put the clues together, but he couldn't make them fit.

At breakfast the next day, McGonagall announced that the Mandrakes were ready and that the petrified students would be revived that night.

Draco was horrified. The revived students might be able to identify the criminals! To prevent this, the criminals would be forced into desperate and murderous deeds _today_.

Should he help defend the infirmary or go to the library for a last-ditch attempt to put the clues together? He had a terrible feeling that whatever choice he made would be wrong. The weight and urgency of the decision made him feel ill.

He fled to the boys' bathroom and heaved up his breakfast. It could have been worse; sometimes stress gave him migraines. Afterwards, he leaned over a sink and splashed his face with cold water, waiting until he felt less shaky.

"What's wrong, Draco?" came a girl's voice. He turned and saw Moaning Myrtle looking concerned. He hadn't seen her in ages.

"Hello, Myrtle," he said unsteadily. "Do you want the short version or the long version?"

"The long version," she said. "I have plenty of time."

So he told her everything. It helped. It was such a relief to tell someone! And Myrtle was sympathetic.

Some parts of the story amazed her. "Hagrid? I always thought he was kind of sweet, but _so_ unkempt! He was a third-year when I died, you know."

She was fairly good at hiding her pleasure at Hermione's removal from the scene, though she clearly wanted to monopolize Draco's affection.

Myrtle pointed out, "If Harry heard the monster speaking Parseltongue, it's some kind of snake, and snakes are good swimmers, you know."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. They could travel through the plumbing. I go everywhere through the pipes, you know. You'd be amazed. There's always a fixture or a floor drain to take you close to where you want to go."

"How big a snake?"

"As big as you like. The drains are huge."

"Have I told you that you're a marvel, Myrtle?"

"Tell me again."

"You're a marvel, Myrtle Warren."

She giggled and curtsied. "You have excellent taste, Draco Malfoy."

"I need to get to the library. Thanks, Myrtle. I owe you one." Draco departed hastily.

Once in the library, he found the list of books he'd compiled all those months ago, scanning it for likely choices.

He noticed something odd. Ginny had triaged the list, putting dainty checkmarks next to books that seemed worth examining more closely, and crosses by the ones that didn't. But three of the crosses were much larger and bolder than the rest, almost as if they'd been written by someone else. Had she become confused over which mark was which?

He went in search of these three books. For once, luck was with him and he found what he was looking for right away. It was an antique volume about magical creatures. Draco turned to the index and looked up "snake." The first subentry was "Basilisk." He turned to the indicated page:

_"Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size and live many hundreds of years … the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death."_

Of course, the victims hadn't died; they'd been petrified. Maybe this was a special basilisk? Or a new kind of serpent? Or maybe it was just old and feeble and petrification was the best it could do?

Draco didn't have _all_ the facts, but he had enough: A more or less immortal King of Serpents was housed in Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets and moved through the plumbing. That was plenty.

He needed to warn people right away, but his name had to be left out of it. But there was no time!

He had a ridiculous thought, dismissed it, then came back to it. He laughed out loud. It would work! He'd apologize to Hermione later. And Madam Pince.

It broke his heart to do it, but he ripped the page out of the book. Then he wrote "pipes" on it in a poor imitation of Hermione's handwriting. Now he just needed to get to the infirmary unseen. He'd plant the page and make sure someone found it within minutes. Madam Pomfrey, for instance. She'd be happy to play along.

He slipped out the back door and hurried down the empty corridor.

He turned a corner and almost bumped into Ginny walking the other way. "Weasel Girl!" he whispered. "What are you doing here?

She looked bewildered. After a few seconds she asked, "Snako?"

"Are you all right?"

"I … don't know." She was pale and disoriented.

He didn't have time to unravel the situation, so he lied earnestly, "I don't feel well at all, so I'm going to the infirmary. Can you do me a favor and tag along? Make sure I get there?"

After a pause, she said, "Okay."

They crept down the next two corridors unseen. At the end of the third corridor, Draco looked back. Ginny had vanished. Draco dithered for a moment, then pressed on.

Madam Pomfrey let him in without comment. Just as he reached Hermione, there was another knock on the door. Draco hurried. He frantically folded up the page, realized he couldn't work it into Hermione's almost-closed hand, and used a shrinking spell. He slid the page into place and let it return to its former size. Madam Pomfrey complaining loudly to Ron and Harry by way of alerting Draco to their arrival, and Draco ducked out of sight just in time.

Harry spotted the page in Hermione's hand and managed to work it free.

Draco wanted to bang his head against the wall. Yes, he wanted the basilisk vanquished, but not by his rival! By someone who would succeed! He'd never hear the end of it if Potter got himself killed. Or even Ron.

Harry suddenly said, "The basilisk kills people by looking at them. But no one's died—because no one looked it straight in the eye. Colin saw it through his camera …"

Draco realized with sudden anger that Harry's insight meant that all the attacks had been murder attempts. They weren't warnings at all! The Heir had deliberately tried to kill Hermione!

His fury was interrupted when Harry had another brainstorm. Moaning Myrtle had died long ago in her bathroom. And why? Because that's where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was concealed! It seemed unlikely to Draco at first, but Mrs. Norris had been petrified right outside Myrtle's bathroom, hadn't she? It fit.

Harry and Ron agreed to go to the staff room and break the news to McGonagall. They hurried out.

Draco's plan was back on track, and the information was so complete that the teachers would have no trouble disposing of the basilisk and capturing the criminals. He could hardly believe that everything was working out so well.

Later, Draco was delighted to hear McGonagall's voice booming through the corridors, "All students to return to their House dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staff room. Immediately, please."

Draco returned to the Slytherin common room as instructed, but when he arrived, Snape wasn't there. Draco waited impatiently, though his task was done and the rest could safely be left to the teachers.

After what seemed like an age, Snape finally returned and announced that Ginny Weasley had been taken into the Chamber of Secrets, leaving behind a message saying, "Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever."

The teachers' plan, if it could be called that, didn't include rescuing Ginny at all! They would evacuate the school tomorrow and either deal with the Chamber at leisure or perhaps abandon the school to its fate.

And Ron and Harry hadn't revealed their findings! Snape and the rest of the staff were as ignorant as ever. It was maddening.

By the time Draco had recovered from his shock, Snape had departed again, telling the prefects not to let anyone leave.

Draco looked around and caught Theodore Nott's eye. "Theo," said Draco, "can you get a message to Professor McGonagall without being caught?"

Theo stared at the door to the common room, and then closed his eyes. After a couple of minutes he opened them again and said, "I don't think so. Guarded doors are tricky."

Draco paced and fretted. He didn't know what to do, and precious time was being wasted.

Snape suddenly returned. "Mr. Malfoy, you don't look well," he said with a significant look.

"I have a terrible migraine," announced Draco on cue.

"Let me escort you to the hospital wing," said Snape. "I have to finish preparing the Mandrake draughts in any case."

Once the door closed behind them, Snape said, "We don't have much time," and began to run. Draco kept pace with him and Snape continued, "We have to assume the criminals will try to finish off the petrified students. And you can assist me with the Mandrake draughts."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Work experience is part of your private lessons."

They reached the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey admitted them gratefully. No one had thought to send her reinforcements. Snape didn't know how to handle gratitude, so he grumbled that he had to be here anyway for the Mandrake draughts.

Two hours passed with agonizing slowness. Then, suddenly, there was a soft knocking at the door.

"Open it, Mr. Malfoy," said Snape, drawing his wand and moving to a better position.

Draco walked to the door and looked at Snape. Snape nodded, and Draco unlocked the door, opening it slowly.

To his astonishment, Mrs. Weasley walked in, holding Ginny's hand. Mr. Weasley followed them. Draco peeked around the door and saw the corridor was empty. He closed and locked the door.

Mrs. Weasley was giving Madam Pomfrey a garbled account of what had happened. Mr. Weasley was trying to add helpful comments, while Ginny was weeping in silent misery. She hadn't noticed Draco.

Draco took a deep breath and said with a smirk, "I see you survived, Weasel Girl. That's not a very Gryffindor thing to do."

Ginny jumped in surprise, then turned and looked at him. In a hesitant voice she asked, "Disappointed?"

Draco waved a hand airily. "Good frenemies are hard to find. You know that."

She nodded vigorously. In her normal voice she said, "And they need so much training! Especially boys."

Madam Pomfrey started leading Ginny to an examining room. Her parents followed. Mr. Weasley looked back at Draco curiously, but followed his wife.

Within ten minutes, Ginny was declared sound but exhausted and also filthy. She was sent to the attached bathroom to shower and change into pajamas.

There was another knock at the door. This time it was Ron and Lockhart. As Madam Pomfrey examined Lockhart, Ron revealed that Dumbledore had returned and was back in charge. Then he turned and gave Draco a poisonous look. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Migraine," said Draco. "But one look at your face frightened it away, Weasley."

Madam Pomfrey quickly told Ron, "If you feel up to it, Mr. Weasley, please inform Professor Dumbledore that I request his assistance at the revival of his students." Ron departed.

Ginny returned, looking freshly scrubbed. She walked up to Draco and blushed. She asked, "What have they told you?"

"Nothing."

Looking at her feet, she said, "I'm the one who opened the Chamber of Secrets."

"You're not the type, Weasel Girl. How was it done? The Imperius Curse?"

She stared at him. "And here I thought this would be hard to explain. It was a dark artifact, Snako. That diary."

Draco's eyebrows shot up as he considered this. "I'm glad I gave it back, then. Did it get its hooks into Potter, too?"

"No, they didn't hit it off." Ginny became aware that her parents were watching them intently and blushed again.

Draco seized the opportunity. He told Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, "Mum, Dad, I'd like you to meet my frenemy, Ginny Weasley."

Ginny punched him hard on the shoulder.

"Ow!"

"Mum, Dad," said Ginny, "I'd like you to meet my frenemy, Draco Malfoy. He'd have stopped me today, but I gave him the slip."

Rubbing his shoulder, Draco said, "I still can't believe you managed that. You're about as stealthy as a brass band."

"I took off my shoes so I could run silently. Duh!"

"Stalking feet," said Draco. Mrs. Weasley gave a snort of laughter but the others didn't get it.

Ginny told her parents, "Draco's father would be furious if he knew we're frenemies, so be careful, please? Like, the nicest thing you can say is 'frenemies,' even in private. And never tell anybody."

Alarmed, Mr. Weasley asked, "He's not your …"

"No!" said Draco and Ginny together. Draco added, "I have standards, you know."

Ginny said hotly, "You wouldn't know standards if they bit you on the bum!"

"So I'm wrong when I say that you're the best frenemy ever?"

"Even a stopped clock is right twice a day, Snako!"

Mr. Weasley said to his wife, "It sounds like they are to me."

Draco said, as if to the air, "She's got this _huge_ crush on … someone else."

Ginny stamped her foot and said, "Me? What about you?" She glowered at him for a second, then they both laughed.

Draco suddenly realized that Professor Dumbledore was beaming down at them.

"I am delighted," said Dumbledore, "to see you so recovered, Miss Weasley." He winked at them and turned his gaze on Snape. "Severus, is the draught ready?"

"It is," said Snape.

"Well, then," said Dumbledore happily, rubbing his hands together, "Who shall we revive first?"

* * *

_[Next: Draco's Reward]_

_[Thanks for reading! Please follow, favorite, and review!]_


	23. Draco's Reward

**Draco's Reward**

In her dream, Hermione lay with her head on Draco's lap as he read her a fairy tale. She could hear the cat Mrs. Norris purring nearby.

Hermione was exhausted. Her body seemed too heavy for her to move a muscle, so she just lay still and listened. Every so often Draco stroked her hair and whispered that he loved her.

She was drowsy, too, making the story hard to follow. It seemed to involve an evil basilisk and several beautiful princesses. Coincidentally, one of the princesses was named Hermione. Princess Hermione had brown eyes and was amazingly clever—almost as clever as she was brave, and almost as brave as she was beautiful. Sometimes there was a Princess Penelope or a Princess Ginny or even a water nymph named Myrtle.

There were handsome princes, too: Prince Harry, Prince Ron, and Prince Gilderoy.

Draco himself was always part of the story. Sometimes he was the wise young wizard, but usually he was the youngest prince who, disregarded or despised, performed his noble deeds incognito and alone. Prince Draco's mood veered erratically, swinging between elation, despair, and every point in between, but he always loved Princess Hermione.

It was hard to keep track of the story because she was so sleepy, but that was all right. The sound of Draco's voice made her happy.

Then other voices replaced his, and she became vaguely alarmed. But soon his voice returned and she was content once more, though she couldn't make out his words. Then they came clear. "Hermione, it's time to wake up."

She didn't want to wake up! But he brushed some stray locks from her face, and she knew what would happen next. He kissed her gently on the lips. She smiled slowly; she couldn't help it. She'd been kissed by her handsome prince, so now she _had_ to wake up. She opened her eyes. "Hello, Draco."

"Hello, Hermione. You overslept." His voice was warm and confident, but his face was pale and exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes. His hair was tousled. Draco's hair was never untidy! But he was smiling down at her, so she knew everything was all right.

She felt … blissful. As if a miracle of pure love had brought her back from … something. Where was she? She looked around. She was in the hospital wing, her bed surrounded by curtains. Her head was on a pillow, not on Draco's lap; Draco was sitting on the edge of her bed. Standing near him were Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore.

Hermione blushed. "You kissed me."

Draco said, "In your dreams, Granger! I'd never kiss a revolting object like you. You know that."

Yes, everything really was all right! After a moment, she said, "I was petrified, wasn't I?"

"Yes."

"Penelope too?"

"Penelope, too. The mirror saved your lives. You were the last victims. Everything's been taken care of. No more monster, no more Heir of Slytherin."

"How long was I petrified?"

"Over two months. You made a good start on evening up our ages."

She smiled at that, then asked, "Who figured out about the basilisk?"

Dumbledore broke in, smiling, "Harry discovered the facts and slew the basilisk. He outdid himself today. When Madam Pomfrey discharges you, you can ask him to tell you all about it. Welcome back, Miss Granger. You've been sorely missed. Come Mr. Malfoy, let us leave these two ladies in peace."

Dumbledore put a hand on Draco's shoulder and steered him away from Hermione's bed so Madam Pomfrey could examine her in privacy.

* * *

Hermione lingered in the hospital wing. So did Ginny and Draco, because they had no choice: Madam Pomfrey had ordered them to remain overnight, while Hermione was free to join the feast in progress in the Great Hall. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were also still there. They showed every intention of hanging around until someone threw them out.

After taking Draco aside for a brief conversation, Dumbledore departed to join the feast, leaving Snape and Madam Pomfrey to sort out the remaining victims.

Colin Creevey was awakened next. He started talking even before he opened his eyes. He asked questions but never paused long enough for anyone to answer them, which reminded Hermione of the first time Ginny had talked to her about Harry Potter.

Madam Pomfrey hurriedly pronounced Colin fit and demanded that he join the feast in the Great Hall.

Justin Finch-Fletchley and Penelope Clearwater came back to consciousness more decorously, were pronounced fit, and sent off almost as quickly.

That left Nearly Headless Nick. Hermione was concerned that giving a potion to a ghost would prove difficult, but Snape produced a perfume atomizer, filled it with the Mandrake draught, and spritzed the ghost back to his old self. Nick thanked Snape and Madam Pomfrey with old-fashioned courtesy and departed.

Now Hermione was the only petrification victim still in the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey said, "If you're feeling well enough, Miss Granger, it's time for you to join the feast."

Hermione turned to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and asked anxiously, "You're not taking Ginny away, are you?"

Ginny was sitting on her assigned bed, struggling to stay awake, but she rallied at this and announced, "I'm staying!"

"Won't some of the students be mean to you?" asked Mr. Weasley.

Ginny's eyes narrowed and her fists clenched. "Let 'em try. Harry rescued me; I can't leave now! You'll set everyone straight, won't you, Hermione?"

"Of course I will!"

"How about you, Snako?"

Draco said, "Did you apply your freckles in the dark this morning? Terrible! What was your question, again?"

"Will you back me up when people are mean to me?"

"Nobody beats up my frenemies but me."

"Close enough. I'm staying, Dad. And Snako, I'm so glad you're being sweet to Hermione for once."

Draco said, "You haven't changed your clothes in months, Granger. That's disgusting! What's wrong with you? And I don't envy the lecture you're about to get from Madam Pince."

"Madam Pince? Why?"

"You'll find out. I'm glad I'm not in your shoes."

Hermione stuck out her tongue at Draco, hugged Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and headed for the door, saying goodbye to the room in general as she left.

Snape decided to escort her to the Great Hall. They walked in silence for a while, then Hermione asked, "What happens now?"

Snape said, "Ask me again tomorrow, Miss Granger. I'm not fully informed myself. Or ask Mr. Malfoy. I'll tell him everything either of you should know."

"Thank you."

"Do you believe in fate, Miss Granger?"

"Of course not!"

"Study the arguments for and against over the summer, both Muggle and wizarding. I'll expect a report when you return in September."

"All right."

"And I want you to know that I disapprove of Professor McGonagall's schedule for you next year. I think you'll find it surprisingly distressing. When you discover this for yourself, ask Professor McGonagall about more conventional alternatives."

"I will." Was this Snape's idea of being supportive? It probably was.

As they got close to the Great Hall, the buzz of conversation became audible. The feast was in full and noisy progress. Hermione had no idea what time it was, but a few students had already fallen asleep at their tables.

She looked down the Gryffindor table, and there was Harry. She laughed and ran to him, shouting, "You solved it! You solved it!" He stood, and she threw herself into his arms.

Harry laughed and blushed and hugged her back. Neither of them could stop smiling. Nor could Ron. She had the best friends in the world.

Later, people who had never talked to her before came over and congratulated her on her recovery. Some also congratulated her on solving the mystery, which left her a little puzzled. She _had_ solved the mystery, but it hadn't done any good, had it? She hadn't told anyone but Penelope, and she'd been petrified, too.

Theo beckoned her over to the Slytherin table so Millie could ask her about Draco's condition. The last they'd seen of him, Snape was hauling him off to the hospital wing. Crabbe and Goyle listened attentively.

"He's just exhausted," said Hermione. "Madam Pomfrey insisted that he spend the night and rest."

"He's sensitive," said Millie, who scowled as if daring Hermione to make something of it.

"Yes, he is," said Hermione. "And he's full of surprises! Mrs. Norris was awakened before I was, and she let Malfoy pet her. She was purring! I never thought she'd let a student touch her."

This pleased them. They were all card-carrying members of the Draco Malfoy fan club and everyone but Goyle took turns telling stories about what a great friend he was. It was a funny old world.

Later, Hagrid arrived, newly released from prison, and was met with rapturous applause. Later still, when many students had fallen asleep in their seats or had stumbled off to bed, Dumbledore announced the point totals. Gryffindor had won the House Cup again.

Then McGonagall announced that exams were cancelled. Hermione cried, "Oh, no!" and everyone laughed at her. Things were back to normal.

Later, Harry told her everything that had happened since she'd been petrified, and dug the torn page from his pocket and showed it to her.

Hermione was astonished. She'd never tear a page from a library book! And she certainly hadn't torn this one: she'd never seen that page before. But she didn't want to interrupt Harry. She'd look into the mystery later.

She was delighted to learn that Harry had freed Dobby the House-Elf but was horrified to hear that Lucius Malfoy was so deeply involved in the plotting. Apparently, he'd deliberately victimized Ginny to kill Muggle-born students like Hermione. The whole point was the mass murder of children and maybe the return of Lord Voldemort. How much of this did Draco know?

The next day was Saturday. When Hermione went down to breakfast, Ginny and Draco were practically the only other students there. They both looked much better. They went up to the library after breakfast, Draco taking a different route. They met near the window seat.

After the obligatory insults were exchanged, Hermione asked, "Malfoy, have you ever heard of a House-Elf named Dobby?"

"Sure," said Draco. "He's Father's valet."

Hermione stared. "And if I'd asked you in September?"

"He's been Father's valet for years. Why do you ask?"

Hermione was speechless with surprise and self-reproach. Why hadn't she asked him earlier?

"Wake up, Granger!" said Draco.

"Sorry," said Hermione. "Dobby visited Harry more than once to tell him he was in terrible danger."

"From what?"

"He never said, but it must have been the Chamber of Secrets."

"I wish he'd warned _me,"_ said Draco grumpily. "Some family retainer! Maybe it's a different danger."

"I don't think so."

"We should make sure. Weasel Girl wouldn't like it if anything happened to Potter."

"That's right!" said Ginny.

Hermione said, "There's more."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well, of course there is! Otherwise my life would be too perfect. But I need to make a confession first."

Hermione's heart sank. She glanced at Ginny, who looked fearful.

Draco said, "I figured out enough of the puzzle to raise the alarm, but I wanted to keep my name out of it. So I tore a page about basilisks from a library book, folded it up, and put it in your hand. Potter was right on my heels and almost caught me planting it. He found it right away, and the rest is history. Oh, and Moaning Myrtle told me that giant snakes could travel through the drains, so I defaced the page by writing that down."

"Malfoy!"

"You're welcome."

Ginny looked stunned. "Did you save my life, Snako?"

Draco smirked. "You _know_ I'm far too shy and modest to answer that. Ask Potter what would have happened if he hadn't found that page."

Ginny looked daunted, so Hermione said, "I'll ask him."

"And make sure he returns the page to Madam Pince. I'll feel better when she repairs the book."

Hermione hesitated, then said, "Malfoy?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you know where the diary came from?"

"I do."

She blinked. "Really?"

Draco didn't meet her gaze, but stared off into the distance. "Dumbledore knew one of you would tell me, so he took me aside and told me himself. It really was T. M. Riddle's diary for 1943, but Riddle enchanted it to become an immensely powerful dark artifact with the happy purpose of forcing its owner to reopen the Chamber of Secrets and murder all the Muggle-born students. You know, it's things like that give dark artifacts a bad name.

"Later, T. M. Riddle, academic superstar, became You-Know-Who. It shows just how far dedication and study can take you, Granger. You're on track to becoming the most powerful Dark Lord ever."

"No, thank you," said Hermione.

"What a pity. Anyway, my father added the diary to his collection—and the diary added Father to _its_ collection. Under its influence, he palmed the diary off on Weaselette in Flourish and Blotts. The rest you know." He fell silent, still staring into the distance.

Ginny asked, "Are you okay?"

"Not really."

Hermione asked, "Is there something you haven't told us?"

Draco sighed. "I don't know. Dumbledore tried to break it to me gently. He asked me how much I blamed Weaselina for the attacks, and I said not at all. Everything bad was out of character for her. She got blindsided and overpowered. It could happen to anybody. You-Know-Who was amazing that way."

He finally made eye contact again, first with Ginny, then with Hermione, and said, "And Weaselette set aside the diary for months on end—twice! And threw it away. None of that should have been possible.

"Oh, that reminds me. You need to apologize to Moaning Myrtle, Weasel Girl. She was hiding in the U-bend of the toilet you tried to flush it down, and she took it personally."

"What? Are you serious?"

"Absolutely. She was still mad about it months later and insisted on telling me about it. At great length.

"Where was I? Then Dumbledore asked me if I could blame my father as little as I blamed you. I told him I'd try. But it's hard! Father hates Muggle-borns and he hates Arthur Weasley. That's why he picked on Weasel Girl."

Hermione said indignantly, "He wouldn't murder children!"

"I hope you're right. You probably _are_ right. But I'm not _certain_ you're right. So I'm not a happy Malfoy right now."

Ginny asked, "How enthusiastic was your father about You-Know-Who, back in the day?"

Draco raised his eyebrows, but said. "This is a secret, okay? But I don't know. I really don't. He tells the story different ways to different people. Sometimes Voldemort was the best thing ever, sometimes he was just a Muggle-raised, half-blood upstart who lacked manners and dress sense. Of course, I always thought You-Know-Who was dead, so it was all just ancient history that mattered a little bit less every day."

"He's half-alive," said Ginny.

"So I'm told. I don't know what's going to happen, but can the three of us agree that we'll do everything we can to make sure we all live to grow up?"

They could.

* * *

By the next day, Draco's friends had already grown cold towards Hermione, all except Theo. Hermione had half-expected this, but it still hurt.

Theo and Draco arrived together in the library that afternoon while Hermione was catching up on her studying. Just because there weren't exams didn't mean she didn't want to master all the work she'd missed!

"Hello, Granger," said Draco. "Your hair looks more horrifying than ever."

"Hello, Malfoy. Theo, why do you associate with this disgusting reprobate?"

Theo said quietly, "I don't like this game."

Hermione, said, "I'm so sorry! Theo, I'm glad to see you. You too, Malfoy."

They all sat down at their usual table and Draco said, "I heard a rumor that Potter freed Dobby the House-Elf."

"It's true," said Hermione. "Harry tricked your father into tossing one of Harry's socks away, and Dobby caught it."

Theo shook his head. "Tossing laundry around isn't the same as a gift of clothes."

"Dobby thought it was," said Hermione.

Theo looked unhappy. "The other House-Elves won't buy it, and Dobby must have some doubts. Do you know where he is?"

"I have no idea. Why do you ask?"

"House-Elves tend to pine away when they're not employed. He could die."

Draco asked her, "Does Potter want him?"

"I don't think so," said Hermione. "No, I'm sure he doesn't."

They sat in silence for a moment, then Theo raised his voice slightly and said, "Professor Dumbledore, if you have a moment, we'd like to talk to you."

Draco chuckled and asked, "Does that _ever_ work?"

"Sometimes," said Dumbledore, smiling as he walked up to them. "Mr. Nott, what can I do for you?"

Theo explained about Dobby. Dumbledore said, "Ah, yes. Thank you, Mr. Nott. That aspect had escaped me. What would you recommend?"

Theo blushed at the attention, but said, "Could he take service here at Hogwarts? And get a true gift of clothes from Lucius Malfoy to make it all official? Perhaps a letter of recommendation? The other House-Elves would like that."

Dumbledore chuckled. "I may be far less persuasive than you think, Mr. Nott. But it's a good thought and I'll propose it to Lucius. Something may come of it."

Hermione said, "Would Dobby be a slave here?"

"I will ask him to name his own terms, as is traditional. Since you've reminded me, I will encourage Dobby to accept employment in the modern style."

"Thank you," said Hermione.

"I don't suppose any of you know where to find him?"

"I can pass the word," said Theo.

"Please do," said Dumbledore.

"How is Professor Lockhart?" asked Hermione.

"He is resting cheerfully enough in St. Mungo's. He is in good physical and emotional condition, but will not be able to teach at Hogwarts for years to come, since there's so much he has to relearn."

"Good," muttered Ginny. Then she turned bright red.

"If he had succeeded in obliviating Harry Potter and your brother, you would surely have died, Miss Weasley. I think you can be forgiven for your hard feelings, just as we can all be grateful that your brother lacked the funds to replace his damaged wand—though I suppose it would be asking too much for us to be grateful to the Whomping Willow for breaking it in the first place."

"Is You-Know-Who really still alive?" asked Draco.

"Oh, yes, Lord Voldemort is very much alive. He lacks only a serviceable body to become as powerful as ever. He nearly acquired one twice, and was foiled each time by Harry Potter. I wonder if he will take the hint next time and stay far away from Harry."

"I doubt it," said Draco darkly.

"So do I," said Dumbledore. "We live in interesting times, do we not?" Smiling benevolently, he took his leave. Theo left a few minutes later.

Ginny said, "So tell me, Snako, how dark are you, really?

"Ginny!" said Hermione, shocked. She'd never had the nerve to ask that question.

Draco smiled, "How firm is your father's stand against the abuse of enchanted Muggle artifacts?"

Ginny hardly blushed at all. "Is that your answer?"

"No. Can't say I ever thought about it."

Hermione said, "You're joking."

"No, really! Let me demonstrate. Weasel Girl, how heroic are you?"

Ginny looked away. "Don't."

Hermione realized that Ginny blamed herself for not being heroic enough to completely reject the diary.

Draco realized this, too. His face fell. "I'm sorry, Ginny."

"And don't use my real name, Snake-O-Rama!"

"I thought your real name was Genevra."

"Don't rub it in." She glared at him. "Look, you're just a boy, so I'll go easy on you this time." Then she grinned. "I dare you to ask Hermione."

"Granger, how heroic are you?"

Hermione said, "Heroic enough. I'm here with you, aren't I?"

Draco laughed. "Well spoken." They smiled at each other until Ginny cleared her throat pointedly.

Draco said, "Weasel Girl, I don't know how to answer your question. A lot of dark stuff is cool. It really is. If I gave you the grand tour, you'd agree with me. But the whole villain thing is just _stupid. _It only made sense to You-Know-Who because he didn't have any friends."

* * *

The next morning, an owl brought Draco a letter just as he was starting to eat his breakfast. His shoulders slumped as he read it. When he finished, he pushed his plate away and left the Great Hall. Hermione wished she could follow him and learn the news, but she'd have to wait until their usual time.

Ron nudged Harry and said, "Look at Malfoy. He looks like he lost his best friend."

"Serves him right," said Harry. The two boys grinned at each other.

Ginny and Colin Creevey were chattering away happily. Colin had been afraid that he'd have to repeat his first year, since he'd been petrified for so much of it, but McGonagall had arranged for him to be tutored over the summer holidays. He was a bright kid and would do well enough.

When she met Draco later, he was still discouraged. He told her that his father claimed total ignorance about the diary and the Chamber of Secrets, which couldn't possibly be true. His father was clearly angry with Dumbledore and enraged by Harry Potter. Draco was positively forbidden to befriend Harry or support him in any way.

"You weren't doing that anyway," said Hermione.

"I never got a chance, did I?" said Draco. "I'm tired of being the rival who always loses. And it's _hard_ keep you alive when you go on adventures without me!"

They talked about the summer. Draco said it wouldn't be safe to approach his father on any sensitive topic until the end of the summer at the earliest. It would be dangerous to mention "Granger is a secret pureblood" or "not all Weasleys are as bad as all that."

They'd meet the day after the Hogwarts Express took them to London if they could. Draco would ask to say in London for a few days so he could shop in Diagon Alley, but his father was still stinging from his recent humiliation, and might return to Malfoy Manor at once.

Theo spent practically the whole summer in London, so Draco could get an invitation to visit anytime it coincided with Hermione's travels.

"Can I bring Ginny?" asked Hermione, not at all sure she wanted to.

Draco made a face. "I want you all to myself, Granger. You know that. But bring her along whenever you like."

* * *

The last few days of the term passed quickly. Hermione was afraid that Draco would go out of his way to irritate Harry, but he remained subdued. Ginny, though happy, was also in no mood for mischief. Hermione realized that the strain of the last few weeks had taken a lot out of them, and they were still recovering.

Then it was time to board the Hogwarts Express. Like last year, Hermione saw nothing of Draco during the trip back to London. If all went well, she'd see him tomorrow.

She took a compartment with Harry, Ron, Fred, George, and Ginny, and they expended all of the twins' magical supplies during the trip, especially Exploding Snap. They also practiced disarming spells. Harry would soon be better at this than she was if she wasn't careful.

And then they were at King's Cross Station. Harry _finally_ remembered to share his telephone number with them, giving a copy to her and a copy to Ron, and in the unloading and the hunt for their luggage they became separated.

And then she caught sight of her parents, looking proud and a little anxious. Her long hospitalizations this year had been hard on them. She ran to them and was so happy to see them that she cried. Right now she wanted more than anything to spend time with her parents, just the three of them. The magical world could wait, if only until tomorrow.

They walked to the car, all three talking at once, as always. It felt wonderful.

Next year would be a lot easier, right? It had to be. She was taking so many classes, she'd be too busy to get into trouble! It was a good thing Draco liked studying almost as much as she did. By September his father would calm down, and everything would be perfect.

* * *

_[The End?]_

_[Please favorite and review! And let me know what you're looking forward to in Book 3!_

_I'll be taking June off, and hope to pick up the tale again in July]_


	24. The Dementor (Prisoner of Azkaban)

**The Dementor (Prisoner of Azkaban)**

Draco must have been dozing, because he woke with a start when the Hogwarts Express clattered to a halt.

Where were they? It was pitch black outside. Hogwarts Station should be well-lit.

"What's going on?" he asked. The other occupants of the compartment didn't know either. On either side of Draco were Pansy Parkinson and Gregory Goyle. Facing them were Theodore Nott, Millicent Bulstrode, and Vincent Crabbe. Their compartment was in the middle of the first coach on the Hogwarts Express.

They heard the door open at the front of the coach, then the lights went out. In the pitch blackness, they felt a terrible chill.

"There's a dementor on the train," said Theo.

"Don't be daft," said Millie. "They aren't allowed to …" She fell silent.

The chill intensified, as if Draco's blood had turned to ice. His heart started skipping beats. His heart thought he was terrified, but he wasn't. He was almost certain of that.

A pale light appeared at the end of Millie's wand. She looked determined. Good old Millie. Theo did something to make the ceiling glow dimly. His face was expressionless.

They heard distant moans and sobs near the front of the coach. Draco noticed that his fists were clenched. He left them that way. How _dare_ they allow dementors on the Hogwarts Express! Someone had just made an enemy of Draco Malfoy.

They waited in silence as the chill and sounds of distress intensified. The dementor was coming closer.

Then the compartment door opened and an immensely tall form in a ragged black cloak was revealed in the doorway. It had to stoop in the high-ceilinged railway carriage. None of its features were visible, but it _had_ to be a dementor. Nothing else could possibly feel like that.

Everyone shrank away from the creature, including Draco. But a Malfoy never cowered, so he forced himself to sit up straight and glare at the dementor. He felt the creature briefly consider each student in turn, then it turn its attention back to Draco. Dementors were blind, but it returned his stare for what seemed like forever. Finally, it turned and departed. The compartment door closed.

Draco sagged. The next thing he knew, he was sliding off his seat. Where had his strength gone? Goyle hauled him back and Draco managed to keep his seat this time. He tried to pull himself together, to find his courage, to find _something_, but all he had was despair. He reached for his pride … and couldn't remember his own last name. He felt a terrible sense of loss, but even that slipped away, and he wasn't anyone. He didn't matter. He was worthless. Nothing made any sense except death.

He felt a hard slap on his cheek, distant and meaningless. But the slap on his other cheek seemed almost real. "Draco, you pillock!" snarled Millie. "Snap out of it!"

The pain helped, but the dementor was still close, far too close. Draco could hear sobs from the next compartment. But he was Draco Malfoy (thank you, Millie), and a Malfoy was too proud to be stopped by anything as vulgar and commonplace as despair.

He looked around. He noticed belatedly that Pansy had put her arms around. Was it for his benefit or hers? Hers, he hoped: it wasn't doing him any good. Crabbe and Goyle looked glassy-eyed and withdrawn, but Millie and Theo were still alert.

The dementor must still be affecting him, because Draco felt himself slipping back into the dark place.

"It's really getting to me," he whispered. "What can I do?"

"More distance will help," said Theo.

They could hear the dementor move into the next coach. Draco tried to stand, but was hampered by Pansy's embrace and his own weakness.

He told Pansy, "Let go." She tightened her grip instead.

"Millie—" he began. Pansy instantly let go and scooted away from him. Millie heaved herself to her feet anyway. She took Draco's hands and helped him up, not deigning to glance in Pansy's direction. He nodded his thanks and she squeezed his hands and let go.

He opened the compartment door and staggered forward until he reached the very front of the coach. He opened the door of the first compartment and stood there, swaying.

There was a dim light at the end of a wand … Percy Weasley's wand. Fred and George were there, too, along with Oliver Wood and Katie Bell. A whole compartment of older students. Perfect. And all were dauntless Gryffindors! Double perfect. Luck was with him for once.

The twin closest to the door pulled Draco onto the seat before he could fall.

"Who has chocolate?" asked Percy. "It helps."

Katie pulled out a box of chocolates, put one in her mouth, and handed the box to Draco. He popped a chocolate into his mouth with a shaking hand and passed the box to the nearest twin.

Katie said with her mouth full, "That's amazing! Now I only feel half-dead."

Draco felt warmth flow through his body. After a while his sense of taste revived. This was excellent chocolate; Katie was sacrificing an expensive assortment.

Oliver asked, "Where did you come from, Malfoy?"

Draco tried to speak. No words came out. They gave him more chocolate and didn't ask him any more questions.

Before he felt ready to speak, the door opened and a tired-looking man looked in. He was dressed in the shabbiest robes Draco had ever seen, though clean and neatly patched, as if he were attending a costume party as a professorial hobo. Draco had seen him once before, asleep in Hermione's compartment. The man asked, "Everyone all right in here?"

Percy said, "Mr. Malfoy here was affected strongly, professor. We gave him chocolate and are keeping an eye on him."

"Good man," said the professor. The lights came back on and the train began to move. "We'll be at Hogwarts in fifteen minutes. Come along with me, Mr. Weasley, and we'll check all the compartments. Too few students know to give chocolate."

Percy departed with the shabby professor.

"Better him than us," said one of the twins. "You okay, Malfoy?"

Draco leaned against the seatback, sighed, and closed his eyes. "Never better," he muttered. "Why do you ask?"

He gathered his strength for a minute or two, then made it to his feet on the second try.

Wood asked, "You need a hand?"

"I'll manage." He tottered off and rejoined his friends. They'd acquired chocolate from somewhere and Crabbe gave him some. It helped.

Draco _finally_ thought of Hermione. And brave little Ginny. Were they all right? He was so ashamed that he'd forgotten them that he went into another decline.

Millie asked, "Do I need to slap you again?" Crabbe and Goyle shifted away from her. Protecting him from Millie was beyond their pay grade. She could deal out fond contusions to her heart's content and they wouldn't stop her.

The phrase, "fond contusions" made him smile, and he suddenly remembered other things that made him happy. Like the way the Golden Snitch felt when he caught it during Quidditch practice. Or Harry Potter's angry confusion when Draco landed a zinger. Or even the way his father nodded curtly when Draco did something exactly right. Best of all was Hermione Granger's delight, earlier today, when she caught sight of him unexpectedly after all those weeks apart. She'd had to conceal her smile behind a book.

"I think the threat was enough," he told Millie.

He realized belatedly that Pansy had her arms around him again. He told her, "You can let go now." She shook her head and held on.

Millie gave him a look that announced her readiness to tie Pansy's arms in a knot, but he shook his head. Not this time. Pansy held on for a few more seconds and then released him.

Pansy had embarked on a new career as Draco's Very Special Nuisance just today. She'd simply invaded his compartment and his personal space as if she were his girlfriend.

Draco had known Pansy forever. Like Crabbe and Goyle, she'd been selected by his parents as a suitable playmate ages ago. He was used to her, but she wasn't one of his favorite people. If she wanted to be his girlfriend, she was out of luck. Pansy didn't know it, but he already had a girlfriend.

The summer had been hard on Draco. He hadn't seen Hermione once. She'd been in Europe most of the time and had really enjoyed it, making Draco uneasy. It wasn't that he _wanted_ her to pine, it just made him insecure when she didn't. Draco was too proud to admit, even to himself, that he'd been the one doing the pining. Their constant correspondence hadn't been enough. Not even close.

His father had taken a renewed interest in him after his birthday in June. Draco had spent his whole life yearning for attention from his father, but when he had it, it was unbearably stressful. He was still reeling from the experience. He'd been in no condition to stare down a dementor. He'd managed it anyway, but it had taken all his strength.

He was still weak when, a few minutes later, Percy Weasley looked in on him one last time. "You doing better, Malfoy?"

"Absolutely," said Draco.

Theo told Percy, "The dementor didn't care about the rest of us, but it stared at Draco for a long time."

Percy said "Really? The same thing happened to Harry. The dementor stayed so long that Harry fainted. It refused to go away until Professor Lupin drove it off."

Millie scowled and said, "Those things need to be exterminated."

"The Ministry wouldn't keep them if they were a real threat," said Percy woodenly, as if he didn't believe it himself. He turned and left.

Pansy said, "Potter fainted!"

"Poor sod," said Draco.

"Wake up, Drakey! You need to rub it in."

"Don't ever call me Drakey! But I suppose you're right." He had orders from his father to destroy Harry Potter's reputation, to get him expelled, to vanquish him at Quidditch, and to make his life a misery. Not necessarily in that order. Draco resented the first two orders, but he'd have done the last two without encouragement. He looked forward to defeating Gryffindor at Quidditch, and why not? He was ready—this was his year.

Tormenting Harry was endlessly amusing, too. A hobby in itself. He supposed it was the whole "poking a hornet's nest" aspect that made teasing Harry so delicious, not to mention Ron Weasley and his hair-trigger temper. If Draco made a single misstep or had a tiny failure of timing, events would spiral into a fistfight or a wizard's duel, followed by detention. But Draco almost always walked away smiling, leaving his two opponents seething in impotent fury ... now _there_ was a good word! He'd have to work it into one of his jibes at Potter.

Too bad they never matched him insult for insult. It would be a lot more fun that way. What was their problem? They weren't _that_ inarticulate!

He knew that his frustrated rivalry with Harry had a lot to do with it. Harry always bested him in everything except these verbal exchanges. Well, and academics, of course, but Harry wasn't even _trying_ to be an outstanding student.

Of course, Hermione would have his head on a plate if he overdid it, but that just added spice. And the risk was small. Last year he hadn't pushed Hermione to her limit once, in spite of shenanigans that included calling her "a filthy little Mudblood" in public. Why should this year be any different? He was older and wiser, and his father wasn't targeting Mudbloods anymore. Besides, Hermione was an angel. Their love was stronger than anything. He just wished they didn't have to keep it secret. Some day …

The train arrived at Hogwarts Station and they were taken by carriage to the front steps of the castle.

"Let's take a breather," he told Crabbe and Goyle. He could have dragged himself up the steps but wanted to make a better entrance.

* * *

Hermione stepped down from the carriage and spotted Draco. He looked unwell, as did many students, but surprisingly cheerful. Their eyes met and he winked at her. Then he alarmed her by walking right up to her. At the last moment he pretended to elbow her aside and advanced on Harry. In a loud voice he said, "You _fainted,_ Potter? You actually fainted?"

Ron said, "Shove off, Malfoy."

Draco asked, "Did you faint as well, Weasley?" Then, as if to a toddler, "Did the scary old dementor frighten you, too, Weasley?"

As usual, he spoke only to the boys, not to her, because didn't think she was up to a public exchange of insults. He'd even accused her of making every insult sound like, "I love you." It wasn't true, of course, any more than she was the most beautiful girl in the world, but would Draco listen? Of course not!

Professor Lupin walked up and asked calmly, "Is there a problem here?"

Draco stared in simulated amazement at Lupin's shabby robes, then said, "Oh, no, er, Professor." He gave Professor Lupin a smirking bow, then turned and started up the steps. His Slytherin friends joined him. Soon they were laughing together.

Ron looked like he was ready to spend the rest of the night standing there, fuming, so Hermione poked him in the ribs and they went upstairs.

She wondered what to do about Draco's clowning. She didn't like Draco's treatment of Professor Lupin, though Lupin's quiet dignity hinted that he was more than a match for Draco. Harry and Ron were a different story. A meaningless dig from Draco could upset them for days! It was out of all proportion.

They were in the entry hall when Professor McGonagall swooped down on them. "Potter! Granger! I want to see you both!" They must have looked anxious, because she said, "No need to look so worried; I just want a word in my office. Move along there, Weasley."

Ron watched them forlornly as they followed McGonagall to her office.

Madam Pomfrey arrived a moment later to examine Harry. Professor Lupin had sent an owl ahead to report that he'd been affected strongly by the dementor. Madam Pomfrey quickly declared him fit and departed. McGonagall told Harry to wait outside for a few minutes while she spoke to Hermione about her class schedule.

McGonagall handed Hermione a strange device on a thin gold chain. It looked like an hourglass inside a pierced gold disc inside a gold hoop.

"This is a time turner," said Professor McGonagall. "If you put the chain around your neck and turn the hourglass, it will send you back one hour in time."

Hermione was delighted. A time machine that let her attend more classes! What a wonderful idea!

McGonagall explained the details of its operation, including that she should avoid encountering herself or letting anyone see her turning the hourglass, and she should return to the same spot she departed from if there was any chance of being spotted. And she couldn't reveal the time turner to anyone: it had to be kept secret. This bothered Hermione, who found it hard to keep secrets from her friends, even with a good cover story—and she didn't even have a _bad_ cover story. Not yet, anyway.

"I see you are wearing a watch. Note the time, go back one hour, leave my office, return after forty minutes and hide behind that curtain until I tell you to come out. Do not peek."

Hermione rotated the time turner once and found herself alone in McGonagall's office, an hour in the past. She left and wandered around the empty corridors of Hogwarts for a while, quite at a loss for how to spend the time. She was near the main entrance when the first students arrived, so she walked back to McGonagall's office. It was almost time, anyway.

The office was still empty and she hid behind the curtain as instructed.

A couple of minutes later she heard someone enter the office. She almost jumped out of her skin when Theodore Nott joined her behind the curtain, grinning.

"Theo, what are you doing here?" Hermione whispered.

"That thing around your neck is calling to me! And you're in two places at once. That's a good trick. How are you doing it?"

"You'll get me in trouble! I promised not to tell!"

"Oh, sorry. I'd hate to get you in trouble. I'll go."

"No, wait! McGonagall will be here any moment. Wait until we leave."

"Okay." He stood quietly for a moment, then said, "That dementor was really interested in Draco."

Hermione's heart sank. "Draco, too? It was so interested in Harry that Professor Lupin had to drive it off."

"I wish I'd seen that that."

"Shh!"

The door opened and Hermione, Harry, and McGonagall entered. Madam Pomfrey joined them almost immediately.

_Does my voice really sound like that?_ It was strange hearing the scene a second time, including McGonagall's instructions about her schedule and the time turner. She realized that Theo now knew as much about the time turner as she did. She glanced at him. He was grinning again.

Eventually McGonagall said, "You can come out now, Miss Granger."

Hermione came out from behind the curtain and McGonagall asked, "How was it?"

"Strange," said Hermione. Fortunately, Theo had stayed where he was. She'd been afraid he'd follow her like a puppy.

McGonagall said, "You'll soon get used to it. And now let us join the feast." The thought of the feast and the reminder of McGonagall's kindness in getting her the time turner restored Hermione's happy mood.

They left. Harry was waiting for them. McGonagall locked her office door, but Hermione doubted that this would slow Theo down.

They walked into the Great Hall. As Harry and Hermione walked to their usual seats, Hermione was disappointed to see that they'd missed the Sorting. Harry reminded her that he'd missed it last year as well.

Theo walked in practically on their heels and sat across from Draco.

The feast was quieter than usual. Everyone on the train had been affected by the dementor. Dessert featured chocolate cake and chocolate brownies, and everyone dug in. When a slice of chocolate cake made her feel warm all over, Hermione realized that even the extra hour her time turner had given her hadn't let her recover completely.

Soon the feast was over and they returned to Gryffindor tower. As with last year, she was assigned to her familiar old dormitory and its familiar bed. Her trunk and Crookshanks' carrier were already there, delivered who knew how. Someone must have opened the carrier because Crookshanks was sleeping on her bed, sprawled out as if to keep it all to himself.

Parvati Patil smiled and asked her, "Where are _you_ going to sleep?"

"He'll move over," said Hermione without conviction. She loved Crookshanks but didn't know how to manage him, in spite of having read seven books about cats so far. She changed into pajamas and left to brush her teeth. When she returned, Crookshanks hadn't moved.

Well, what would Draco do? She often asked herself this question. It was simpler and more affirming than asking, "What would I do if I weren't such a Hermione Granger?" She gave Crookshanks a stern look and said, "Shove over, cat." Crookshanks stretched slowly, yawned, and moved to the edge of the bed, giving her a look that said he'd been about to do that anyway.

Hermione climbed into bed. Crookshanks moved closer and began to purr. This and the thought of spending time with Draco tomorrow lulled her to sleep.

* * *

_[Next: Talons and Time Turners]_


	25. Talons and Time-Turners

**Talons and Time-Turners**

The next day was Hermione's favorite day of the whole year, even better than Christmas: the first day of school! She got up early (she couldn't help it) and waited impatiently in the common room for Ron and Harry. When they went down to breakfast, she saw that Draco had arrived on time for once. He was punctual in everything else, but not breakfast. He had taken his habitual place at the Slytherin table, as close as possible to where Hermione, Harry, and the Weasleys sat at the adjacent Gryffindor table.

Pansy Parkinson had taken Goyle's place at Draco's left. She fidgeted and talked constantly, as if she'd been possessed by the spirit of Colin Creevey. While she sat very close to Draco and focused all her attention on him, she was careful not to touch him. Hermione guessed that Draco had forbidden this.

Seeing the Gryffindors approach, Draco clapped the back of his hand to his forehead and pretended to swoon, as if he were the heroine in a third-rate melodrama. His head landed in Crabbe's lap. Pansy shrieked with laughter.

At least Draco hadn't fake-swooned into _Pansy's _lap. Not that Hermione could ever be jealous of Pansy Parkinson. That would be ridiculous!

Harry stiffened and clenched his fists. Hermione said hastily, "Ignore him. Just ignore him. It's not worth it—"

"Hey, Potter!" shouted Pansy excitedly. "Potter! The dementors are coming, Potter! Wooooooo!"

Pansy asked Draco to do his Potter imitation again, and he fake-swooned once more. Pansy laughed. So did a few others.

George looked up from passing out schedules. "That little git," he said, though without any real heat. The twins didn't hate Draco the way Ron did.

George continued, "He wasn't so cocky last night when the dementors were down at our end of the train. Came running into our compartment, didn't he, Fred?"

"Nearly wet himself," agreed Fred.

Ginny and Harry looked dismayed, as if expecting to be next in line to receive the twins' scorn.

Perhaps seeing this, George became serious. "I wasn't too happy myself. They're horrible things, those dementors."

"Sort of freeze your insides, don't they?" said Fred.

Harry muttered, _"You_ didn't pass out, did you?"

The twins agreed that no, they hadn't, but went on to say that even their father came home shaking when he visited Azkaban on Ministry business. Anyway, Harry would get his revenge on Malfoy at the Quidditch match, so there was nothing to worry about.

Ron discovered that Hermione was triple-booked for her nine o'clock classes and asked her some probing questions. She had to snap at him to avoid explaining about the Time-Turner, putting him in a foul mood. She felt guilty about this. He was already upset over the _entirely imaginary _threat that Crookshanks posed to his rat Scabbers.

Two hours and four classes later, Hermione was tired, starving, and irritable. Taking four classes without a break wasn't as much fun as she'd expected, and she'd found Divination class difficult. The material made no sense and Professor Trelawney had been terribly rude. On top of that, her body thought that lunch was two hours late.

Maybe that's why she found herself quarreling with Ron during lunch instead of making up. It was so bad, they stopped speaking to each other. Didn't he _know_ how much this distressed her? And if he knew, would he stop? Ron held grudges, and it made her feel so helpless!

The day was going badly. She'd never had such a difficult first day of class, not even in her first year at Hogwarts, and it was only half-over. The Time-Turner had left her off-balance, which she hadn't expected. But right after lunch they'd have Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid. That would cheer them all up. And Draco would be there.

Sadly, so would Pansy Parkinson, as it turned out. During the walk to class, Pansy practically shoved Goyle out of the way so she could walk beside Draco, who did nothing to prevent this.

Hermione reminded herself that she wasn't jealous _at all,_ and _of course_ didn't feel frightened or threatened, and she _certainly_ wasn't angry with Draco. Though they hadn't seen each other all summer and, technically, _anything_ might have happened, _everything was fine. _

Then Hagrid beamed at her and she was happy again. He was in his element and she was proud of him. He took them to an empty paddock at the edge of the forest and began his first Care of Magical Creatures class ever.

The honeymoon didn't last long. When Hagrid told the class to open their books, Draco interrupted by asking coldly, "How?"

Hermione blinked. This wasn't Draco's usual clowning. He was upset. Why?

"Eh?" said Hagrid.

_"How_ do we open our books?" Draco's copy of _The Monster Book of Monsters_ was tied shut with a length of rope. He held the book up by the end of the rope, as if holding a dead rat by the tail. Or, rather, a live one—the book was struggling. Draco raised his eyebrows at Hagrid.

"You've got to _stroke_ them!" said Hagrid. He borrowed Hermione's book and removed the Spell-O-Tape holding it shut. The book made energetic attempts to bite him until he ran his fingers up and down the spine. The book suddenly went limp in a vaguely disturbing way and flopped open.

Draco said angrily, "Oh, how silly we've all been! We should have _stroked_ them. Why didn't we guess?"

"I—I thought they were funny," said Hagrid.

This upset Draco even more. "Oh, tremendously funny! Really witty, giving us books that try and rip our hands off."

Why was Draco so angry? Oh, of course—he thought Hagrid was playing a nasty joke on his own students! If you didn't know Hagrid very well, that's what it would look like.

Harry said, "Shut up, Malfoy."

Hagrid, flustered, left to get the magical creatures for the day's lesson.

Draco paced back and forth, then glanced uncertainly at Hermione, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly (a technique he'd learned from Hermione's copy of _Conflict Resolution for Your Pre-Teen). _Somewhat calmer, he still complained, "God, this place is going to the dogs. That oaf teaching classes! My father will have a fit when I tell him."

"Shut up, Malfoy," repeated Harry.

Inexplicably cheered by Harry's words, Draco said happily, "Careful, Potter. There's a dementor behind you."

Hagrid returned, leading a dozen hippogriffs into the paddock. With horse-like bodies and the heads, wings, and forelegs of eagles, they looked proud and cruel. They were surprisingly graceful.

Hagrid started describing how proud and dangerous hippogriffs were. Hermione spared Draco a glance. For some reason he was holding a muttered conference with Crabbe and Goyle. They needed to pay attention or they might get hurt!

Harry volunteered to go first. Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle ended their discussion and moved to the railing, finally paying attention.

Harry bowed to the hippogriff, Buckbeak, and after a long, heart-stopping hesitation, Buckbeak bowed back. Then, with Hagrid coaching him at every step, Harry went up and patted the creature's beak, which Buckbeak seemed to enjoy. Then Hagrid coached Harry onto Buckbeak's back. Buckbeak ran lightly down length of the paddock and took to the air as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Harry and Buckbeak were soon out of sight.

Draco approached Neville and said, "Fill me in, will you? I missed some of what Hagrid said."

Neville asked nervously, "You're not really telling your father, are you?" He and Draco had covered for Hagrid before, after the Forbidden Forest debacle in their first year.

"Maybe you're right. No one _else_ will let me fly a hippogriff."

Neville, relieved, started giving Draco a recap of Hagrid's instructions. Draco waved Crabbe and Goyle over so they'd hear, too. Neville finished just before Buckbeak landed gracefully and Harry dismounted, grinning. The Gryffindors and a few of the Slytherins cheered.

Grinning, Hagrid turned to the class and said, "Okay, who else wants a go?" Apparently his plan was to turn all the students loose at the same time, with no further coaching.

Malfoy approached Buckbeak, followed by Crabbe and Goyle. Pansy held back.

Ron and Hermione selected a chestnut hippogriff, and of course Harry volunteered to coach them. Hermione let Ron go first so she could keep an eye on Draco.

When Draco bowed gracefully to Buckbeak, Buckbeak returned his bow at once. Draco was delighted. He approached Buckbeak and petted him. Buckbeak allowed this and was soon leaning into the caresses, emitted deep coos of pleasure. Draco loved this and kept it up for some time.

Remembering his audience, Draco looked to where Crabbe and Goyle were standing and, trying not to laugh, said with mock disdain, "This is very easy. I knew it must have been, if Potter could do it." Turning back to Buckbeak, he spoke as if to a friendly dog, "I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you? Are you, you great ugly brute?"

Buckbeak instantly reared and slashed at Draco's face with his talons. Draco flung up his right arm just in time, and Buckbeak ripped a deep gash in his forearm from wrist to elbow. The talons on Buckbeak's other foreleg slashed down Draco's body, shredding his robes. When Buckbeak's feet were on the ground again, he swung his head into Draco's midriff and hurled him through the air. Draco hit the ground hard and curled into a ball. Buckbeak flapped his wings and screamed, then surged forward to finish him off.

Hagrid leaped between them, grabbed Buckbeak's collar, and hauled him back.

Draco's blood quickly soaked through his robes.

"I'm dying!" cried Draco. "I'm dying, look at me! It's killed me."

Hagrid had turned pale, but said, "You're not dying!" He picked up Draco effortlessly and said, "Somebody help me! Gotta get him out of here." He jerked his head at the gate.

Hermione ran to the gate and opened it. The other students were frozen in horror. Hagrid ran past her and headed towards the castle. Draco's right arm was bleeding profusely and he kept his left arm pressed against his belly. Hagrid ran faster and more lightly than Hermione had expected. Good.

Pansy Parkinson had gone very pale and several students were crying. Crabbe and Goyle looked stunned and lost, but turned away when they saw Hermione looking at them.

Soon they were all stumbling back to the castle. The seemingly endless trail of Draco's blood made Hermione dizzy and sick, but she couldn't take her eyes off it. Sometimes the drops were far apart, sometimes they were close together. Occasionally two or three drops overlapped. So much blood! Would Draco die before he reached the infirmary? Hagrid hadn't attempted any first aid at all.

Somehow they made it to the castle. Once inside, Pansy suddenly stopped and said wildly, "I'm going to see if he's okay!" She sprinted up the white marble steps, now spattered with bright red blood.

Hermione stood frozen, unwilling to turn her back on Draco and head to Gryffindor tower, but unable to make herself go to the hospital wing where Pansy Parkinson and perhaps Draco's corpse awaited her.

Someone took her gently by the hand. A soft voice said, "Come on, Hermione." It was Neville. He led her to Gryffindor tower.

* * *

Hermione drifted through the next few hours as if in a nightmare. Hagrid didn't show up for dinner. She couldn't eat. Afterwards, the three friends visited Hagrid in his cabin. He was sunk in gloom, with a huge tankard in front of him. His face was already red from drink. When he spoke, his speech was slurred.

"Madam Pomfrey fixed him best she could," Hagrid told them. "But he's saying it's still agony. Covered in bandages, moaning …"

Life and color flowed back into Hermione's world. Draco was alive! He was conscious and complaining! That was practically normal.

Harry said, "He's faking it. Madam Pomfrey can mend anything. She regrew half my bones last year. Trust Malfoy to milk it for all it's worth."

"School governors have been told, of course," continued Hagrid as if he hadn't heard. "They reckon I started too big … It's all my fault."

"It's all _Malfoy's_ fault, Hagrid!" said Hermione loyally. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she remembered the trail of blood and felt ashamed. After a very bad moment, she told herself firmly that Hagrid needed all her support right now, and she'd give Draco all her support as soon as she got back to the castle. Hagrid was too upset and, frankly, too drunk for a balanced discussion anyway.

"I think you've had enough to drink, Hagrid," she said, taking his tankard and stepping outside to empty it onto the ground. Hagrid surprised her by agreeing, following her outside, and ducking his head in the rain barrel. It was strange having someone that much bigger taking her this seriously.

When they returned the castle, it was after visiting hours, but Hermione went to the hospital wing anyway.

Madam Pomfrey unlocked the door and let her in, saying, "I'm glad you're here. He needs his sleeping draught but he's refusing to take it because he doesn't want to miss you."

"How is he?"

"He'll make a full recovery, but he's having a rough time of it."

Hermione approached Draco's bed. He was propped up in a half-sitting position, but his eyes were closed. His right arm, bandaged from shoulder to wrist, was in a sling. His face was pale and covered with sweat. Sometimes his body tensed and he stopped breathing for several long seconds. He must be in terrible pain. He was enduring _this_ in the hope of seeing her?

Hermione found that her fingers were in her mouth. When would she break herself of this childish habit? She took them out, composed her features, took a deep breath, and said, "Hello, Malfoy."

He opened his eyes, saw her, and sighed in relief. He even managed a brief smile. "Granger, we've got to stop meeting like this."

"How are you?"

He made a vague gesture with his left hand. "It could have been worse."

She blinked. "How?"

"I had the distinct sensation of being raked all the way down to my toes. Disemboweled on the first day of school, a new record!"

Hermione shuddered. Draco continued, "I made Madam Pomfrey search for the second wound and everything. It's just the arm, though. Full-body pain is a cheerful side effect of hippogriff maulings."

He dropped his light tone and said, "It was bad, Granger. Almost as bad as the dementor."

The dementor had been even worse? She didn't know what to say.

Draco continued, "I really wanted to fly on that hippogriff. I was going to meet your cat today! And maybe get you to tell me why Theo's being so mysterious." His voice trembled. "And I haven't held you in my arms in _months!" _He paused for control, then said, "And the pain makes me all whiny."

"Are you going to be all right?"

"Yeah, sure," he said glumly. "Piece of cake."

Madam Pomfrey appeared with a smoking beaker. "Time for your medicine, young man."

Draco made a face but took the beaker in his left hand, shuddered in anticipation, and drained it. When he handed it back, he clutched urgently at the glass of water that Madam Pomfrey offered next. He drained that, too, then lay back and said, "That was ghastly. Revolting. It … reminded … me …" His eyes closed and his body gradually relaxed.

"He'll sleep now," said Madam Pomfrey unnecessarily.

Hermione took out her handkerchief and gently wiped the sweat from Draco's face. She was grateful to see that the draught had put him into a normal sleep and not something deeper and more deathlike. In sleep, he was so beautiful! She gazed at him for a while, then kissed him on the cheek and whispered, "I love you, Draco."

She said good-night to Madam Pomfrey and walked slowly to the Gryffindor common room. She was exhausted. She hoped she'd never have another first day of school like this one. The quarrel with Ron, all those classes, Draco's injury … it was all too much.

Or was it? She was exhausted, yes, but … Draco had waited for her! And when he saw her, it was as if his pain had evaporated. Well, a lot of it, anyway. This morning, she'd been jealous of Pansy Parkinson, and afraid, too. So many girls liked Draco! But his bond with her was so strong … nothing could come between them now. Yes, it had been a rough start, but everything would be easier now. Of course it would.

* * *

_[Next: Bandages and Badinage]_


	26. Bandages and Badinage

**Bandages and Badinage**

Hermione had trouble getting up the next morning. The Time-Turner was lengthening her days but not her nights, leaving her short on sleep. It didn't help that every time she tried to roll over, Crookshanks was in the precise spot that made this impossible.

She made it to breakfast rather late, after her friends were already gone. She ate quickly. She didn't have an early class today and morning visiting hours in the hospital wing hadn't started yet. Madam Pomfrey would let her in anyway, and she'd have some time alone with Draco if no sick students wandered in. She hoped he'd be awake and comfortable. Or was that too much to ask? He'd been suffering so much last night!

She was relieved to see Draco sitting up in bed and eating breakfast—or trying to. His right arm was still in a sling, and his one-handed attempt at buttering a slice of toast was just moving it around on his plate. Under the circumstances, this was as normal a scene as she could imagine.

When he caught sight of her, he set down his knife and beckoned. "Granger! Come here and make yourself useful for a change."

She wanted to laugh from sheer joy, but that wouldn't be playing the game. With as straight a face as she could manage, she said, "Good morning, Malfoy. I'm surprised you'll accept my Muggle-born charity."

"Condescension to inferiors is the mark of a gentleman. Now butter my toast before it gets cold."

Hermione sat on his bed and did as she was told, no longer trying to hide her smile. Handing him a neatly buttered slice of toast, she said, "I missed you so much!"

"Well, of course you did! Butter and marmalade on the next piece." His lips twitched as he struggled to keep a straight face.

When she handed him his buttered and maramaladed toast, she asked, "Are you up for serious talk?"

"Have you gone mad? I'm eating! Cut up that ham."

He gazed at her as she worked. When she looked up, his eyes were smiling. He looked around to see if anyone was nearby, and said quietly, "You look wonderful. I mean it. The tan suits you. Much better than your old petrified look. I was glad when _that_ went out of style."

"So was I."

"I suppose you saw the whole hippogriff fiasco?"

"Yes."

"When I petted Buckbeak, he was so affectionate that I forgot to stay polite and formal. I talked to him like he was Fang."

"That makes sense, actually."

"These painkillers are good, and my arm doesn't hurt too much unless it's bumped, but I'm stuck with the sling for _weeks._ Slow healing is another fun-filled effect of going _mano a mano_ with a hippogriff. And I had to tell Marcus Flint to find another Seeker for the Gryffindor game. That was a wrench, I don't mind telling you. Potions class will give me some trouble, too."

"Could you ask Snape to _order_ me be your lab partner?"

Draco laughed. "Now, _there's_ a thought!" He smiled at her, and she felt … treasured. How had she made it through the summer without him?

She waited until he pushed his plate away. He'd eaten only half his breakfast, but that was more than she'd expected. It never took much to put Draco off his feed. She asked, "Is Hagrid going to be in trouble?"

"Not from me. I'm the noble hero, indifferent to peril, pain, and injury. Obviously. Filing a complaint would ruin the whole effect! And it would disappoint Longbottom. You know how terrified I am of his disapproval. Hagrid is one lucky oaf."

She risked criticizing him. "I hate it when you insult Hagrid. He's my friend."

Draco scowled and looked away. After a moment he mimicked Hagrid's voice, quoting, "Rotten to the core, the whole family. Everyone knows that! No Malfoy's worth listening to. Bad blood, that's what it is." Still looking away, he said in his normal voice, "And he said it right in front of your parents! It's a good thing I have such a poor memory, or it would _really_ bother me."

So she wasn't the only one who remembered every terrible word Hagrid had said that day! But she rallied and said, "Be sensible, Malfoy! You can't hold a grudge against Hagrid!"

He finally met her gaze again. "Why not?"

"He's not in your league. Holding a grudge marks someone as an equal, or even a superior."

Draco chuckled. "Well done. We Malfoys really do take that into consideration. _Noblesse oblige_ and all that. So guess where I really stand, _vis-à-vis _Hagrid."

"First, tell me this: would you have signed up for Care of Magical Creatures if you'd known Hagrid was teaching it?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then partly you're just doing the kind of thing your, um, noble father expects you to. The rest is just your baseline awfulness."

"Well, mostly. But to tell the truth, I resent what Hagrid said, even though I shouldn't."

"It bothers me, too. Of course it does! I hate it when people look at you and see your father."

"What? Are you actually claiming Father isn't a sterling character and an ideal role model?"

"Only to the extent … wait, was that a serious question?"

"Absolutely not."

"I'm glad I asked! By the way, Harry thinks you're faking it and plan to milk it for all it's worth."

Draco's eyebrows rose. "Potter thinks I _faked_ being mauled by a hippogriff?"

"No, of course not! He thinks you're exaggerating your injuries."

"If I'd known it would bring such a beautiful girl to sit next to me at breakfast, I might have done."

"Honestly, you're such an idiot! Harry thinks Madam Pomfrey healed you completely and you're just malingering to make Hagrid look bad and get him fired."

"Malingering? A Malfoy doesn't know the meaning of the word. Speak English, Granger! But no one fools Madam Pomfrey. Potter needs to get a clue. Do you think we can buy him one in Hogsmeade?"

"I doubt it."

"Too bad. But he flatters me. Maybe I should send him a thank-you card. He keeps imagining that I'm in the same league as You-Know-Who."

"I've noticed that. Are you?"

"Not anymore! Your innocence has washed all my sins away, so now I'm as sweet and virtuous as you."

"I'm glad to hear it. So you don't think Hagrid will be sacked?"

"Madam Pomfrey says that ignoring student safety is a Hogwarts tradition. Sometimes teachers take out a whole class at once; that's why there are so many beds in here. No one's ever given the boot for it. It's a sore point with her."

"I can imagine. Harry thinks your father will use his influence to put pressure on the governors."

"Influence? What influence? Brain fever, that's what it is. You and Potter both. Remember, the governors sacked Father in June—threw him out so hard, he bounced three times. 'Influence,' she says! And the Ministry's almost as bad. The last time Father dropped by to see Cornelius Fudge, the man actually hid under his desk!"

Hermione giggled. "I'll bet your father didn't like that."

"It's so unfair! You send just _one_ tiny little book to Hogwarts, and when it tries to kill half a dozen Mudbloods and sacrifice Ginny Weasley to summon the Dark Lord, people hold it against you for _months!"_

Reassured, at least about Hagrid, Hermione changed the subject. "What's up with Pansy Parkinson?"

"She's decided to be my girlfriend, though she hasn't actually said so. She's probably afraid Millie will tear her limb from limb."

"Will she?"

"She might. She and Pansy have this hate-hate relationship."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to palm Pansy off on a more suitable boyfriend. After an exhaustive search, I've selected Mr. Ronald Weasley. They were made for each other."

Hermione couldn't help laughing, then said, "Ron's not _that_ bad!"

"Keep telling yourself that, Granger. And I'll enjoy teasing Weasel Girl about Pansy being her future sister-in-law. But to be honest, I don't know what to do. I already have the perfect girlfriend, so Pansy's out of luck. Do try to keep your rampageous jealousy in check."

"A Granger doesn't know the meaning of 'rampageous.'"

"It's clear from context. Do try to keep up. But it wouldn't be right to shun Pansy just because she fancies me, would it? And she holds grudges forever."

"Poor Malfoy."

"It's all the fault of this 'puberty and adolescence' stuff. When we were younger, I could just push her in a mud puddle and everything would be perfect. Apparently that's not age-appropriate behavior anymore. Are you bringing your cat tonight?"

"I'll ask Madam Pomfrey if it's all right. I should bring Ginny, too. She's upset at the nasty things Ron is saying about you and wants to see for herself."

"Good. At least_ she'll_ give me a hard time. You're being so nice, maybe you don't care anymore."

She heard the insecurity beneath his banter, but knew better than to acknowledge it. "I'm very busy, Malfoy. I don't have _time_ to list your many flaws!"

"Give me a few highlights."

"The Sorting Hat actually refused to make contact with your head. That's how repulsive you are! And you're so timid that you meekly ride the wrong model of broom in Quidditch matches. You're incapable of following simple instructions in Care of Magical Creatures. Pansy Parkinson, the perfect reverse barometer, sees you as boyfriend material. Honestly, Malfoy! You couldn't do worse if you tried!"

"I could so! Doing worse is what Malfoys do best!"

Hermione burst out laughing.

Madam Pomfrey appeared to warn them that morning visiting hours would soon begin, and Draco was sure to have visitors who weren't in the know, so it was time for Hermione to leave unless she wanted to fake an illness. Hermione kissed Draco awkwardly before departing, careful not to touch his wounded arm. She wanted so much for him to hold her! But the sling was an impenetrable barrier. She did her best to hide her frustration.

* * *

After dinner, Ginny and Hermione arrived together in the hospital wing. Hermione didn't bring Crookshanks because Madam Pomfrey disapproved.

Draco was still the only patient in the infirmary. He was on his feet in pajamas and slippers, holding a small book in his left hand. He'd apparently been pacing the length of the infirmary while reading. He looked tired, though, as if he'd been forcing himself to exercise when he should have been resting.

Ginny called, "Snako!" and ran to greet him, stopping short when she realized that she didn't know how to hug a boy with his arm in a sling. Draco, grinning, tossed his book onto a nearby bed and beckoned to her left-handed. She put an arm around his waist and they stood smiling at each other. Hermione reminded herself yet again that she was _not jealous at all_.

Draco and Ginny had been almost the same height a year ago, but Draco had grown quite a bit taller in the past few months. And more muscular, she realized suddenly. He'd been training over the summer. Gazing at him, she felt … words failed her, but _lucky_ was part of it.

Draco said, "Your tan is even darker than Granger's, Weasel Girl."

"You remember I spent weeks in Egypt, right?"

"To see your mummy and deadie."

Ginny giggled. "That was the worst joke ever. So is your wound really real? Everyone says you're faking it."

"You've got a strong stomach. See for yourself. Madam Pomfrey's changing the dressings in half an hour."

Hermione cleared her throat pointedly. Ginny blushed and disengaged from Draco, who for his part didn't look the least abashed. Hermione took Ginny's place. With Draco's arm around her—_finally!—_the world shifted into a new focus, as if she'd been a little lost, but had come home.

If anything, the effect on Draco was even stronger. He sighed and the tension in his body began to fade at once. Ginny hadn't had this effect on him.

"I needed this," murmured Hermione. "How was your day?"

"Me, too," Draco whispered. Louder, he said, "Busier than I expected. Everyone dropped by to visit. My classmates, the Quidditch team, Snape, McGonagall, and a few you'll never guess. Go on, guess."

Ginny said smugly, "Colin Creevey."

Draco smirked. "Did he tell you why?"

"He said he just felt like he should, like you were a friend, though all he _remembers_ is you being a prat, a git, and a pillock. Or did he say 'wanker'?"

Hermione didn't believe for an instant that Colin had used any of those terms. She asked Draco, "What does it mean?"

Draco said, "I sat down next to you and read to the petrified students every day. I guess some of it sank in."

"That's sweet," said Hermione.

He asked, "Any other guesses?"

"Dumbledore?" hazarded Ginny.

"Not yet. But your good friend Rubeus Hagrid dropped by."

"Really?" asked Hermione.

"Have I ever lied to you? Don't answer that. He was incredibly nervous. He apologized. Asked if I could forgive him. But he was so upset, I don't think he took in a word I said."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing much. Not getting through to him made me all tongue-tied. Not one of my best performances. He left after a couple of minutes."

"What will you do next?"

"His visit bothered me. I'm not even making jokes about it."

"That's a bad sign, isn't it?"

"Sort of. More like a warning that I don't know my own mind. Not yet. One thing I'm sure of, though, is I want to erase the blot on my reputation by flying that hippogriff. Obviously. So I'll need Hagrid for that."

Draco soon returned to his bed and asked the girls to do most of the talking. He stretched out and closed his eyes. Hermione sat on the edge of the bed and held his hand. She offered to leave if he was tired, but he just gripped her hand tighter. When the conversation started up again, Draco opened his eyes and participated almost normally.

Ginny had a tendency to talk about Harry. Draco tolerated this with an increasingly visible effort.

Suddenly Ginny stopped and accused, "You don't like it when I talk about Harry."

"I'm in the hospital because I failed where he succeeded."

"Oh, right. Sorry."

"I have a question," said Hermione.

"Ask away," said Draco.

"Why were you horrid to Professor Lupin?"

Draco scowled. "He's letting the side down. There _are_ standards, you know. Shabby robes show disrespect for the school, the students, and maybe himself. It's like he's mocking us."

"Maybe he can't afford them," said Ginny. "I know what _that's_ like."

"Your robes were better than his. And we pay him a good salary. He doesn't have to look like that."

"I like him," said Ginny.

Hermione asked, "What about Snape?"

Draco hesitated, then admitted, "Severus Snape is the despair of all his friends. Always has been."

"Maybe you should go easy on Lupin," said Ginny. "He saved Harry right in front of me. The dementor was actually moving in on him, and then Lupin shot this bright white mist from his wand and the dementor fled."

Interested, Draco sat up and said, "The Patronus charm? Really? I'm impressed! Okay, I take back five percent of what I said. No, ten percent."

"And _why_ are you taunting Harry about the dementor?" demanded Hermione.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"No," said Ginny and Hermione together.

"I tease my rivals as stupidly as possible, to give them a sporting chance."

"Pull the other one," said Ginny.

"I have to train up my own competition, you know. Otherwise I don't have any."

"That's the dumbest thing I ever heard," said Ginny.

"It's the solitude of greatness. Granger here knows what _that's_ like. And you're my star pupil, Weaselina! Here, I'll demonstrate: Your family is poor."

"Gosh, you're right! It explains so much! Thank you, Snako!"

"Not only that, but you're in love with Harry Potter."

"What girl wouldn't be? Except poor Hermione here."

"You didn't have the courage to spit in the dementor's eye."

"Oh, like you did any better! Get over yourself, Snako!"

"Granger's a Mudblood."

Ginny had to pause to think, but then she lashed out, "You should know! You practically worship her parents."

"Lupin and Hagrid dress improperly for Hogwarts teachers."

"You'd prefer Lockhart?"

"Take a bow, Weasley. That was brilliant."

"I think she's better at this than I am," confided Hermione.

"That's because you don't have any killer instinct," said Ginny, "but, don't worry; it's one of your best features." To Draco she said, "But you're still having us on, Snako. Taunting Harry is part of your dastardly plan. Or you're just an idiot."

"Maybe both," said Hermione helpfully.

Soon it was time for Madam Pomfrey to change Draco's bandages. Hermione had intended to watch, but had to look away almost at once. She hoped Draco would pick someone else to write letters for him. She didn't want to describe his wound, not even to herself. She'd have to use words like "oozing."

Ginny was made of sterner stuff, though even she paled and bit her lip during the worst parts. She confessed an interest in sports medicine and asked questions that Madam Pomfrey answered in her usual blunt terms. Hermione tried not to listen.

Draco didn't even pretend to watch the procedure. "I've seen it," he said airily, fooling no one.

Hermione held his left hand again and they held a disjointed conversation as the work progressed. More than once he gasped and lost track of what they were talking about, though he insisted that his only discomfort was from Hermione's all-encompassing awfulness. He made her laugh twice during the procedure and she made him laugh once.

He was completely drained by the time Madam Pomfrey finished, and she gave him a sleeping draught right away. He was asleep before they could say goodnight.

Ginny was happy that Ron had been wrong about Draco, but she was concerned about his arm. As they walked back to Gryffindor tower, she said, "It's not just the damage. Every day he doesn't use the arm, it'll get weaker. He'll need an exercise program and maybe physical therapy or he won't be in shape for Quidditch this year at all. And by next year the substitute Seeker will have more experience than he does."

"What should he do?"

Ginny grinned. "Hire me as his trainer! I'll whip him into shape." Hermione stopped dead and Ginny added hastily, "I'll give him back, I promise!"

They started walking again. Ginny said, "We're not serious, you know."

"I know." It's what she told herself, anyway.

"Snako would panic if he thought I was serious. He'll never risk losing you. He thinks he'll die without you."

Hermione stopped walking again. "Really? Why?"

"I don't know. Last month he sent an owl when he was feeling really down, but his letter didn't make much sense. He thinks he's doomed or cursed or something, and you're the one miracle that can save him."

"That sounds like him." He'd hinted at such things before, but always in ways that told her that it wasn't open for discussion.

Ginny asked, "Do you think he's right?"

"He might be. How can we find out?"

"Leave it to me," said Ginny. "If sweet reason doesn't work, I can be a real brat."

* * *

_[Next: The Shrinking Potion]_


	27. The Shrinking Potion

**The Shrinking Potion**

After days in the hospital wing, Draco reappeared when he swaggered into Snape's Potions class like a conquering hero. This impressed Pansy Parkinson, who asked with sickening solicitude, "How is it, Draco? Does it hurt much?"

Draco struck a brave pose and said, "Yeah." Crabbe and Goyle looked worried, so he winked at them when Pansy wasn't looking.

He'd missed Snape's entire lecture and part of the lab time. His right arm was still in its sling. Hermione couldn't see how he could do anything useful in the time that remained. Not one-handed.

Snape had refused Draco's request to have Hermione assigned as his lab partner, claiming that the two of them would instantly blow their own cover, so Draco thumped his cauldron down not on Hermione's table, but on Harry and Ron's. He methodically set out the correct ingredients for the shrinking potion with his left hand.

"Sir," Malfoy called to Snape in a tone of false earnestness. "Sir, I'll need help cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm."

Snape said, "Weasley, cut up Malfoy's roots for him."

Ron reddened and told Draco, "There's nothing wrong with your arm!"

Hermione was appalled by Ron's pig-headed insensitivity. The image of Draco's agony the night of his injury came to her mind.

Draco, on the other hand, was amused. Trying for a tone of injured innocence without much success, he said, "Weasley, you heard Professor Snape! Cut up those roots."

Ron must have done a terrible job of this, because a minute later, Draco called sadly, "Professor, Weasley's mutilating my roots, sir."

Snape stalked over to their table, glared it the ingredients, and said, "Change roots with Malfoy, Weasley."

Ron was appalled. "But sir!" Hermione couldn't see the roots in question, but they must be mutilated indeed for Ron to object like this.

"Now!" barked Snape.

The roots were exchanged and the boys returned to their tasks.

Draco worked in silence until Harry and Ron became fully absorbed in their tasks, then called, "And sir—" Harry and Ron both jumped, and Draco stifled a laugh. "Sir, I'll need this shrivelfig skinned."

Snape said, "Potter, you can skin Malfoy's shrivelfig."

Draco returned his attention to his cauldron. He worked without notes and without hesitation—he must have memorized the whole procedure. His left hand was clumsy and many tasks were awkward when done one-handed, but he made steady progress.

Harry deftly skinned the shrivelfig and threw it almost in Draco's face, which delighted Draco for some reason.

When Draco's cauldron no longer needed his immediate attention, he said something to Ron with an expression of angelic curiosity. Hermione couldn't hear what he said, but it angered Ron. Draco added something in a tone of mock sorrow that brought both Ron and Harry almost to the boiling point.

Hermione had to stop watching because she had to concentrate on helping Neville. Snape had told her not to, so she had to be careful. There was another exchange between Draco, Ron, and Harry, but Hermione didn't have any attention to spare.

At the end of class, Neville's appalling-looking shrinking potion was tested on his pet toad, Trevor—and worked perfectly! Everyone had half-expected Trevor to be poisoned and they were all relieved at Neville's success, except for Crabbe and Goyle, who had laughed in anticipation of disaster and had been glum at Neville's success. Poor Draco! Those two were such a burden!

"Five points from Gryffindor," said Snape. "I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed."

Hermione was upset, as she always was when Snape criticized her, but not _too_ upset, partly because of Neville's gratitude and partly because her own potion had been absolutely perfect. So had Draco's. She supposed she should be surprised by this, but she wasn't. Draco was an extraordinary student. It was easy to miss because he rarely bothered to raise his hand in class, preferring his comments to be unasked-for and even uncalled-for. But his work was brilliant. It would have been the talk of the school if Hermione hadn't stolen his thunder.

Now, there was an odd thought! Draco was constantly being upstaged by Harry and Hermione. He was bitter about Harry but not about her. Or was he? No, surely not!

Ron and Harry, with far more time at their disposal and the use of both hands, had produced visibly flawed efforts that Hermione wouldn't have tasted for anything. Few of the other students had done any better. Theo had actually made an entirely different potion, though he seemed pleased with it. Crabbe and Goyle's efforts had been beyond terrible, though Millie had filled in for Draco and tried to coach them, nearly bursting with frustration in the process.

* * *

That evening, Hermione arrived at the library at the agreed-upon time. Crookshanks trotted at her heels. Hermione had worried that Madam Pince would keep Crookshanks out, but the two hit it off at once.

Draco was not in their nook, so she went to her private study room, took out her Arithmancy book, and began to read. Ten minutes later, Draco thumped on the wall between their study rooms, and she opened the concealed door.

Draco stepped through and put his good arm around her, then jumped away hurriedly when Crookshanks growled at him.

Hermione began to apologize, but Draco didn't seem to hear. He stared at Crookshanks, who glared up at him. Without turning his head, Draco said, "Introduce us."

Feeling silly, Hermione said, "Crookshanks, this is my boyfriend, Draco Malfoy. Draco, this is my cat, Crookshanks."

"How do you do, Crookshanks," said Draco. To Hermione, he said, "He's huge! Help me get down on the floor."

"What if he attacks you?"

"Don't be … never mind. No sarcasm until Crookshanks knows me better. I'm not making _that_ mistake again. If I need rescuing, rescue me."

Soon Draco was sitting the floor. He and Crookshanks regarded each other solemnly. Then Crookshanks walked up and sniffed Draco's bandaged arm.

Draco answered Crookshanks' unspoken question. "I spoke ironically to a hippogriff and he took offense. That's where the wound came from. I always talk like that, you know; it doesn't mean anything. Do me a favor and don't attack me unless Hermione tells you to."

Crookshanks turned his gaze on Hermione as if looking for confirmation. Feeling even sillier, she told the cat, "Draco's the most obnoxious boy in the world, but just ignore it, because he'd do anything for me. He loves me. He's smart and brave and loyal, just like you, Crookshanks."

Crookshanks condescended to let Draco pet him and even purred a little.

After helping Draco back to his feet, Hermione sat with him on the love seat. Crookshanks made no objection, not even when Draco put his arm around her again. Crookshanks sat on Hermione's chair, his eyes half-closed, pretending not to watch Draco closely.

Hermione asked Draco, "What did you say to Ron and Harry?"

"Lies, mostly. You couldn't hear?"

"No."

"Too bad. You'd have been amazed. I wanted to see if there was a limit to their gullibility."

Had he been showing off for her? Probably. "And was there?"

"Not really. I actually told them that Father has a lot of influence with the governors, and they _believed_ me! And I more or less agreed when they accused me of faking my injury. An injury that keeps me from playing Quidditch! Can you imagine? I even told Potter that, if it was me, I'd have snuck out of school by now to deal with Sirius Black."

"_By now?_ Draco, we've only been here a few days, and you spent them in the infirmary!"

"Wait, are you doubting my sincerity or my ability to defeat Sirius Black _literally_ single-handed?"

"Both. Also, you're too smart to do anything so daft."

"I _am_ a bit of a genius, aren't I?"

"What am I going to do with you, Draco?"

"Kissing followed by homework followed by more kissing."

This turned out to be a splendid idea, though Draco's wounded arm was very much in the way.

They had to cut short the second round of kissing. Draco's pain potion was wearing off and, much to her embarrassment, Hermione had grown sleepy while studying and seemed likely to nod off against Draco's good shoulder. Which had its good points, but not when Draco was in pain!

And it made Draco go all protective in her least favorite way. He _demanded_ that she promise to do her late-night studying not in the library, but in the Gryffindor common room, where she'd be safe. She started to argue, but he claimed that by virtue of her experience as the Amazing Petrified Girl, she didn't get a vote on this.

It was infuriating. Draco wasn't _allowed_ to give her orders! Not orders she was expected to _obey,_ anyway. He knew that!

She'd just become really angry when she remembered that she'd been petrified right after leaving the library at a time when the corridors were deserted. Oh. And he'd looked awful when she'd been revived, as if he'd been under a terrible strain for a long time. But that didn't make him the boss of her!

She glared at him and said, "Don't tell me what to do, Malfoy! You can't make me do things just because you act like a spoiled, stuck-up Slytherin with no social skills and a bad haircut!"

"This is a great hairstyle!"

"I'm going to do it because it's a sensible safety precaution and I'm a sensible girl. Except for my taste in boys. And don't think you can stop me just because you're a git."

"I can't be a git! My station is too lofty."

"A twit, then."

"That's better. What are you promising, exactly?"

"I'll leave when you leave, and anyway before closing time, and earlier if I feel sleepy."

"Good idea. I wish I'd thought of it. Where do you get these amazing brainstorms?"

Then it was time for their goodnight kiss. To allow a proper embrace, they stood and Draco removed his sling and straightened his arm with infinite care. It couldn't support its own weight without pain, so he had her grasp his wrist and gently move it to her side until he could hook his thumb into the waistband of her skirt.

With his wounded arm safely out of the way, he slowly pulled her in close and kissed her properly for the first time since June. He soon demonstrated that he wasn't just taller and stronger than before, he was more ardent as well. That woke her up! Was it her imagination, or was he developing a powerful, dangerous masculinity? But he still had all the sweetness and even the wonder of their very first kiss. The combination almost overwhelmed her. Strange that such simple kisses could still be so powerful!

It wouldn't be right for her to ignore his new enthusiasm! Especially if she could make a virtue of necessity. Tomorrow, she decided, she'd take the time to change out of her school uniform after class, like she was supposed to. That would allow Draco to support his wounded arm by putting his hand in the back pocket of her jeans—for purely medical reasons, of course.

* * *

Ron and Harry practically ambushed Hermione when she reached the common room. They insisted on venting their feelings about Snape and Draco one more time. Make that two more times. Three.

Hermione tried to listen, but she was so sleepy! She soon retreated to her dormitory. Once there, she remembered her Time-Turner. Suppose she got into bed and turned it back an hour or two? She tried to think it through. She had the dormitory to herself right now. No one had seen her come in. If she got into bed right away, she could sleep an hour or two in the past, then sleep the rest of the night in the present, right? There wouldn't be two Hermiones in the same room except for, well, right now …

She looked at her bed. The curtains were drawn, though she always left them open during the day. She was already in there! She needed to set an alarm so she could get out of bed to make room for … the Hermione of right now … then she could go back to bed as soon as … the Hermione of a few minutes from now … had gone back in time? That sounded right. Sort of.

She jumped when her alarm clock went off. She hid behind the curtains on the far side of the bed and heard herself silence the alarm, get up, and stumble towards the bathroom. She couldn't resist peeking. She was still wearing her school uniform. What?

Oh! She understood now. When the bathroom door closed, she dived into bed, closed the curtains and turned her Time-Turner twice.

She looked at her alarm clock. It read two hours earlier than it had a moment ago. She set the alarm to two hours from now. In spite of her excitement over this experiment, she was asleep almost at once.

She woke reluctantly to the stubborn ringing of her alarm clock. She turned it off and got out of bed. The dorm was still empty, of course, if you didn't count her two-hours'-ago self hiding on the other side of her bed. She stumbled off to the bathroom after grabbing her pajamas. She brushed her teeth and changed into pajamas before returning to her bed. It was empty.

Setting her alarm again to ensure she didn't miss breakfast, she did some sleepy calculations in her head. Humans needed an hour of sleep for every two hours awake, more or less. Would she really have to use the Time-Turner for sleep, in addition to everything else? If she used the Timer-Turner to its daily limit, five hours, she'd need an extra hour and forty minutes of sleep. She'd counted on spending a couple of hours in extra classes and the other three on extra studying, but now it looked like it would be two hours of extra classes, an hour and forty minutes of extra sleep, and just an hour and twenty minutes of extra studying. That was less than half of what she'd been counting on!

Oh, well. She was sure she'd work it out somehow. Of course she would. No amount of schoolwork was a match for Hermione Granger!

* * *

_[Next: The Secret Birthday]_


	28. The Secret Birthday

**The Secret Birthday**

On Friday morning, Draco arrived at Snape's office two minutes late. He hated being late. The door swung open at his knock, though Snape was across the room, sitting at his desk.

"Come in, Draco," said Snape. Draco closed and bolted the door.

Snape asked calmly, "Your arm is hindering you, I presume?" Draco's right arm had been mauled by a hippogriff on the first day of class, and it was immobilized in a sling.

"Good morning, Uncle Severus. Sorry I'm late. Yes, it slows me down unpredictably."

"Have you decided what we will study this year?"

"Of course," said Draco, fumbling in his robes for his list. "I appreciate your letting me choose my own topics, but I'd like to see your own list as well."

Snape smiled thinly, the way he did when Draco had slightly exceeded his expectations. He pulled a small piece of parchment from a desk drawer and placed it on his desk. Draco crossed to the desk and placed his own list next to Snape's. Except for the difference between Snape's neat cursive and Draco's appalling left-handed scrawl, the two lists were identical:

1\. Wandless Magic

2\. Patronus Charm

3\. Occlumancy

Snape said, "The first two are obvious: you'll never have a stronger incentive to learn wandless magic than when your wand arm is in a sling, and the Ministry's decision to let dementors wander about unsupervised means that anyone who can learn the Patronus Charm must do so. Occlumancy is a less immediate need, but I see we both chose it." Occlumancy was the ability to prevent others from reading one's mind, whether through magic, interrogation, or torture.

Draco said, "I have much to conceal."

"You have only one secret of any importance, Draco, but I agree with you. Your mother, in particular, must not learn about it."

"Not yet, anyway," said Draco. Narcissa Malfoy's loathing of Mudbloods was far stronger than his father's. Even now she refused to be in the same room with her husband's friend, Severus Snape—not because Snape was Muggle-born, because he wasn't, but because he was still mourning his lost love, the Muggle-born Lily Evans. Narcissa found this revolting. This was one of many topics that Draco and Snape mentioned only indirectly.

"One more thing. I take it you've heard about the boggart?" Snape suddenly looked forbidding.

"Yes." The boggart incident was the talk of Hogwarts.

"Give me your analysis."

The main thing, Draco told himself, was to not mention or even think too much about Neville's greatest fear (Professor Snape), or the image he'd used to drain away its frightfulness (Professor Snape in drag). Because Draco had _two_ significant secrets right now: He was in love with Hermione Granger and the boggart incident was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. And he needed to avoid Snape's gaze, or Snape might pick up his thoughts. Snape loved him like a son, putting Draco in the appalling position of being able to wound him like no other.

Draco stared at a particularly loathsome jar on a shelf to the left of Snape and said, "It's somewhere between a practical joke on you and a declaration of war. But the interesting part was that Professor Lupin made Longbottom _destroy_ the boggart, so only the third-year Gryffindors got any practice with it. And Potter and Granger watched but didn't participate."

"Can you guess why?"

Draco shifted his gaze to a spell book to the right of Snape and said, "Making Potter's fears public would be a gift to You-Know-Who. Granger does Potter's thinking for him, so it's a package deal. And Lupin has a lot of other classes. He _must_ have students with stupider fears than Longbottom's, so destroying the boggart kept anyone from stealing his thunder."

"Anything else?"

Draco dropped his gaze to the two lists on Snape's desk. "I don't want people to know my deepest fears! That helped me decide on Occlumancy."

"Well reasoned, Mr. Malfoy. Let's move to the practice room."

* * *

Hermione arrived early at Care of Magical Creatures, in the company of Harry and Ron. Draco arrived soon afterwards, looking perfectly at ease, as if returning to a class where you'd almost died last week was the most natural thing in the world.

Hagrid appeared and said, "We're doing somewhat different today. Follow me." He led them to an area he'd set up with wooden tubs of soil and flobberworms, which looked even more unappealing than their names suggested.

Draco looked at the flobberworms with distaste and asked, "No hippogriffs today?"

"No," said Hagrid, "I been told they're too advanced for you lot."

"Well, then," said Draco, "Let's advance quickly, shall we? I want to ride Buckbeak when my arm's better."

Hagrid was astonished. "Are you serious?"

"Potter flew Buckbeak. Why not me?"

Ron said, "Because you're a git, Malfoy."

"Quiet, Weasley," said Draco. "The big kids are talking."

Hagrid seemed confused, but finally said, "See me after class."

That was the high point. Hagrid did his best, but never made it clear why flobberworms counted as magical creatures or why anyone would bother caring for them.

Later, when they met in the library, Draco told Hermione that Hagrid had heard him out but seemed to have trouble believing that Draco meant what he said. He said he'd think about it, but Draco doubted anything would come of it.

"I don't know what's so hard to believe," he grumbled. "A success on the second try would nearly erase my failure the first time. Wouldn't anyone want that?"

Hermione said, "I don't know why, but I think Hagrid's afraid of the Malfoys."

"He's under Dumbledore's protection. That puts him beyond Father's reach. And I'm just a kid! All _I've _ever used on Hagrid are heavy sarcasm and profuse bleeding."

"Maybe there's more to it than you know."

"I hope not. But I suppose we're going to have to find out."

* * *

September 15 was Hermione's fourteenth birthday. At breakfast, Harry and Ron clearly didn't know this; they'd forgotten _again_. Honestly! You'd think that receiving a birthday gift from her just six weeks ago would remind Harry, at least.

Ginny had told her yesterday that boys were incapable of remembering birthdays, so it was a mistake to expect much (or anything) along those lines. Except from Draco, of course; Draco was different. He'd sent Ginny a hard-to-find Quidditch book for her birthday in August, a birthday two of her brothers had overlooked in spite of repeated reminders from their mother.

Hermione was hoping for an owl from her parents this morning. Their mail-drop service was a little unreliable, especially for packages, so it might be delayed or even lost, but she knew they'd have sent her something good. It was sure to be a book and a card, but that was good, right?

The morning owls flew into the great hall. Draco's huge eagle owl arrived with his daily box of treats from his mother, Narcissa. On a typical day, Draco barely glanced at the parcel before handing it to Crabbe for distribution in the Slytherin common room, but today he put it into his bag.

Draco had told Hermione in a moment of candor that he and his mother loved each other desperately but had no idea how to please each other. The gifts of sweets were just one example. Before his recent growth spurt, he'd been the smallest boy in Slytherin. Hating this, he took his growth and fitness seriously, rarely touching desserts and never finishing them. He had a positive horror of snacks because they reduced his already unreliable appetite. But he made a daily show in the Slytherin common room of enjoying samples of his mother's treats.

Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy were required to include regular reports about him in their letters home, and he suspected that at least one older student was as well. The reports reached Draco's parents (and who knew how many others). Millie had also been told to send reports, but she'd refused. When her parents insisted, she'd stopped writing home altogether. When they relented, she'd continued her news blackout for another month anyway. No one could out-stubborn Millie.

An owl Hermione didn't recognized arrived after the main rush and dropped a package in front of her, about the right size for a book and a card. The return address was her parents' delivery code at the mail-drop service. Good old Mum and Dad!

* * *

After dinner, Hermione went to the library, eager to see what Draco had in store for her. The window seat in their nook was empty, just as it had been last year, so she went to her private study room.

Just like last year, there was a birthday cake on her desk, and, just like last year, there he was, looking pleased—not with himself, but with her, as if she'd granted his heart's desire just by being there.

And he'd grown so tall and handsome! She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so she did both. His arm was a little better, and it hardly took him any time get it out of its sling and around her shoulders, which was his latest variation.

They held each other and Draco kissed her. As their lips met, she realized that her last year's birthday wish had just been granted: "I wish for Draco to kiss me on my fourteenth birthday." So many things had happened over the past year! Including events that could have torn them apart, or worse. She'd been just a hand mirror away from being killed by the basilisk. But here they both were.

Then Draco did … something … and she realized that the candles on her cake had been lit.

"How did you do that?" she asked.

But he just said, "Happy Birthday, Hermione." She'd expected him to say it smugly, because of the candles, but no; his voice was warm and confident, the way it had been when he'd awakened her from petrification with a kiss. She shivered. Unable to speak, she gazed up at him.

He understood. He took it all in, as if this, too, was his heart's desire, then his eyes twinkled and he said, "Make a wish."

_I wish for Draco to kiss me on my fifteenth birthday. _She disengaged from him carefully, helping him put his arm back in its sling before turning to the cake and its fourteen candles. She blew them out carefully, as befitted such an important wish. Because the kiss wasn't just a kiss: for her to receive it, they both had to live and love for another year.

When the last candle was out, Draco said, "I felt that one. Sometimes wishes have power, you know. That one sure did!"

"I hope so," she said, smiling up at him.

He said, "I have a gift for you. Look in your top drawer."

She did, and found a jeweler's box, about the right size for a bracelet.

"I didn't wrap it. I can't imagine why," said Draco. "Open it."

She sat at her desk and opened the case. Draco rested his good hand on her shoulder. Inside the box was a small analog wristwatch with a matte gold case and a simple brown leather band. It looked rather like the watch currently on her wrist. While unostentatious, it was clearly an excellent watch, much better than her old one.

Draco said, "Self-winding, waterproof, shock-resistant, illuminated dial. There are spells on the crystal to keep it from breaking and on the band to keep it from falling off.

"It's beautiful," said Hermione honestly. Its simplicity drew the eye to its perfect proportions. It was also strangely heavy.

"And it always shows the correct time. No matter what."

She looked at him in suspicion. "No matter what?"

"No matter what. If you use a portkey to travel to a new time zone, it adjusts itself to the local time. Or, just for the sake of argument, suppose you had an ostensible Time-Turner and theoretically went back two hours in time. This purported watch will allegedly rewind itself by two putative hours. Hypothetically."

She stared at him. "When did you figure it out?"

"I'm embarrassed to say. It took me _days._"

"Who else suspects?"

"I keep an eye out to see who else is watching you. Nobody, as far as I can tell."

Relieved, Hermione took off her old watch and put on her new one. "What else does it do?"

Reluctantly, he said, "It has a few little spells to protect you."

"How little?"

"Not very little."

"What else?"

He hesitated, then admitted, "I can tell when you're wearing it."

"Why?"

"If you fall into someone's power, the bad guys will take it away from you, either because it looks valuable or because it feels powerful. Or if they don't, put it in your pocket. That'll work, too."

"If that happens, can you find me?"

"Yes, through our lockets."

"Lockets?"

"I didn't tell you before, but I have one, too. They're linked, and we can use them to find each other."

She glared at him, but he just smiled down at her. A moment later she was smiling back. His increased physical presence was doing something to her brain! What was worse, she _liked_ it! What if he used this to take advantage of her? And shouldn't the idea of being taken advantage of feel _bad?_

Wrenching her attention back to the topic at hand, she asked, "Is that how you found Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?"

"That's right. I got there just as you were leaving. I never would have managed to clean the place up otherwise, and Snape would have found your notes, your gear, your purloined ingredients, and a restricted book checked out in your name."

"Yes, yes; you're a hero and a genius, Draco, and you saved the damsel in distress. Well done. Ten points to Gryffindor."

"Hey!"

"Well, it wasn't a very _Slytherin_ thing to do, was it? But the real question is, why didn't you _tell_ me about the lockets?"

He looked away. "Would you have trusted me? Way back when we were first-years?"

Would she have? No. Not then. She'd quarreled and stopped talking to him over the baby dragon incident. Had she known he could track her …"

"No," she said. "Not until later. All right, I forgive you, Draco."

"Thank you." He met her gaze again, looking relieved.

"Think nothing of it. Can you show me how to track you with my locket? You _know_ I'll have to rescue you sooner or later."

He reached under his shirt and … and … she looked away after several seconds of confusion. Trying to look at his locket made it hard to remember that he had one.

"Close your eyes and hold still," he advised. She could feel him drag something like a loop of string or a fine chain over her head, one-handed, then he said, "Open your eyes."

She was wearing an oval gold locket on a fine gold chain. It was perfectly visible now. It looked a lot like the one she was wearing under her clothing. Like her watch, it was simple, yet elegant. She opened it and saw a tiny painting of herself. It looked like it had been painted in the last few months. Like most wizarding pictures, it moved. She was sitting at a desk, studying a book intently, a quill behind her ear. She reached up for the quill, then glanced up out of the picture and smiled in delighted recognition.

Hermione looked from the locket to Draco, and he said, "I love that picture. And now that you've worn my locket, you'll never have any trouble seeing it. Put it back around my neck."

She stood and did so, and kissed him for good measure. Smiling, she said, "I know it's my birthday, Draco, but it feels _wrong_ for you to be this nice. Stop it!"

"Your witch is my command. Now _try_ to focus your microscopic Muggle-born girly brain on what I'm telling you." He taught her a spell that made her locket strain towards its mate. All she had to do was follow.

Once she'd done the spell correctly three times in a row, she asked, "How did you update the picture?"

"There's a spell for that, too, if you like."

She opened her locket and gazed at the little painting of Draco, looking just as he had when they'd first met. He'd been eleven years old. The Draco in the picture always pretended not to notice her, but his eyes and slow smile gave him away. It was adorable.

Today, on her fourteenth birthday, it seemed a little strange, even a little unreal that she'd fallen in love with the beautiful child in the picture. In her memory, they'd hardly changed at all: they'd always been much as they were today. Mostly. Sort of. But the picture said otherwise.

She said, "Can we keep that one the same, and put an up-to-date one in the other half?"

"Consider it done."

They cuddled on the love seat and she told him, "I'm worried."

"Hmm?"

"You've been extra nice for _days_."

He sighed but said nothing.

She said, "Now you're scaring me! You have to tell me what you can, Draco. Always. Even on my birthday."

"But I wanted … no, you're right."

"It hasn't been a rule before because you've been so wonderful about it. Remember last year, when I promised to tell you every embarrassing Lockharty thing I did? That really helped me."

"Never butter me up, Granger. I hate that."

"Don't you _dare_ hold out on me, Malfoy!"

"That's better. Do you want it all in one ghastly lump?"

"Yes, please."

"First, I just learned that Father's trying to get Hagrid sacked. I asked him not to, but he just ignored me. He won't succeed, but still … Second, I have to walk past the dementors to get to Hogsmeade, and I don't want to give them another shot at me. Third, my arm's healing more slowly than it should and I might miss the whole Quidditch season. Fourth, I can't stay here over the holidays because I'll be seeing specialists. Fifth, I haven't seen Weasel Girl in a week. Is she mad at me?"

"I'm sorry to hear about your arm and the holidays. I was hoping we'd have a _normal_ secret holiday romance this year!"

"Me, too. I was hoping you'd brew some more Polyjuice Potion. I have a few hairs from Millie's cat set aside."

"Draco!" She tried to glare at him but dissolved in giggles. When she recovered, she asked, "Is Hogsmeade important to you?"

"No, but a Malfoy can't let a little thing like dementors bother him."

"Why not?"

He hesitated, then admitted, "If I don't go, my friends will think I'm all depressed again."

She looked at him in alarm.

"This really shouldn't be news to you, Hermione."

"I … I suppose not." She felt confused and guilty. Was she missing something right in front of her?

"They used to think I was always happy at Hogwarts, but it was bad when you were petrified. And they visited over the summer and could see I was struggling."

"I'm sorry, Draco."

He belatedly saw that she was upset. He shook his head slightly and smiled. "Let that be a lesson to you, young lady. No more playing hide and seek with basilisks!"

_"Now_ you tell me! Let's find a way to do _something_ about the dementors. I don't want anything to happen to Harry—or even to you, I suppose."

He chuckled. "Fine with me. Potter's _my_ rival_._ Everyone else can take a number and wait."

"And Ginny isn't mad at you! How could she be? She's just busy. She started her own study group with Colin Creevey and Luna Lovegood."

"Who's Luna Lovegood?"

"She's a second-year Ravenclaw. She and Ginny are friends. She's weird; you'll like her."

"Is she as pretty as Weaselette?"

"Yes, she is."

"Then keep her away from me! I like a quiet life."

"Of course you do. Last year, Fred and George sent a soppy valentine to Luna and forged Colin's name to it. He was petrified at the time, of course. The _Quibbler_ ran a story on 'Love Beyond the Grave' and everything! I think Luna wrote it herself. Her father's the publisher. She showed the card and the story to Colin when he was revived, and they're friends now."

"Wait, isn't Creevey that one-boy Harry Potter cheering section?"

"That's right.

"And he's hanging out with the Amazing Love-struck Weasel Girl? What could possibly go wrong?"

Hermione laughed. "I think Harry's in for a rough time."

"See if you can drag Weaselina here tomorrow. I have a job for her."

"All right. Do you want a slice of cake?"

"Not really. You and your horrible little friends can have the whole thing."

"I've decided to keep my birthday secret from most of my horrible little friends, since they always forget it anyway. Maybe I'll share it with Ginny's study group. Ginny remembered."

He smiled at her and said, "Hermione, is there anything else I can do to make your birthday complete?"

She hesitated, then said in a small voice, "Draco … please tell me we'll be together forever."

She had expected him to shy away from the topic, but, still holding her, he straightened and grew almost grim. After a moment he relaxed again and said gently, "We belong to each other, Hermione. Forever and ever; wherever that path takes us. You know that. In spite of other people's opposition and our own blunders. Especially mine, of course. It'll be hard until we come into our own. Very hard. But we'll make it through. Only death can sunder us, so be a good girl and look both ways before crossing the street. If we live to grow up, we'll live happily ever after to the end of our days, and those will be exceedingly long."

She snuggled closer. "I've always loved that ending. But are you sure you aren't overestimating me?"

"Hermione, you are an amazing girl. Everyone knows it. I'm sure. Of course I am. You, Hermione Granger, are my one true love."

Her eyes filled with tears. "I love you too, Draco. Forever and ever, just like you said." After a moment she felt compelled to ask, "And your parents?"

"If nothing else, grandchildren will bring my parents around. Especially now that both Father's line and Mother's line are practically extinct."

"What's your mother's line?"

"The Blacks."

"As in Sirius Black?"

"The very same. He's my cousin, you know."

_[Next: Hogsmeade]_


	29. Hogsmeade

**Hogsmeade**

For Hermione, the second half of September and the first week in October passed in a blur. Part of it was due to her Time-Turner, of course: it was an inherently disorienting device. Draco's gift of a watch that always adjusted to the correct time had been inspired; without it, she'd have lost her mind completely by now.

Studying for all those classes took up an immense amount of her time. She was studying less with Ron and Harry than before. She supposed they'd gotten used to doing without her while she was petrified. And Ron was protective of Scabbers, so he avoided Crookshanks, which often meant avoiding Hermione. Nor did they take all their classes together anymore. They'd once been inseparable; now they spent more and more time apart. It hurt! She loved Harry and Ron. Being inseparable meant a lot to her.

She studied with Draco at least once a day and with Ginny, Colin, and Luna several times a week. She didn't have any classes in common with the three younger students, but they were wonderful company. The Patil twins often joined them, since they had several classes in common with Hermione.

They usually met in the Ravenclaw common room. The Ravenclaws were more sociable than the Slytherins and the Gryffindors. Instead of being paranoid that someone might overhear their password, they simply propped open the door to their common room during their daily visiting hours. And, wonder of wonders, they had a _doorbell!_ All this struck Hermione as intelligent and civilized; very much in keeping with Ravenclaw's reputation.

"Anyway," Padma had told Hermione, "we _want_ intruders to make it this far. If we think someone is up to no good, we leak the password to them. We have surprises waiting."

"Surprises like what?" asked Hermione.

Padma whispered, "It's a secret."

* * *

Draco tried not to look furtive as he opened the door to the girls' bathroom with the "Out of Order" sign. He hated this part. Once inside, he felt better. The odds of there being a girl in here were nonexistent, except for one.

He heard the familiar sound of crying from one of the stalls. All furtiveness gone, he called cheerfully, "Myrtle Warren, you're in big trouble!"

Moaning Myrtle appeared, passing through the door of her favorite stall. She looked alarmed, but otherwise was the same as ever. She was still a pearly white, transparent ghost of a fourteen-year-old girl, complete with a vintage Ravenclaw uniform. She might almost have been pretty if it weren't for the spots, the ugly glasses, and being dead. She recognized Draco and her alarm faded. Her eyes narrowed and she asked, "Why are you smiling?"

"Happy memories. Hello, Myrtle."

"Hello, Draco. What happened to your arm?"

"Mauled by a hippogriff. More than a month ago, now. It's taking its own sweet time healing."

"How awful! How will you play Quidditch with a bad arm?"

"With any luck it'll be out of the sling before the first match. I'm doing what exercises I can and practicing my left-handed catching, just in case. Do you attend the matches?"

"Every time. I hide where no one can see me. I go through the cold-water pipes up to the reservoir and then down to the fire hydrants behind the stands."

"Maybe you can find a place where you can wave to me. And I hope you'll be cheering me on."

"Of course I will, silly! Even against Ravenclaw. I think Cho Chang is stuck up, don't you?"

"Really? I didn't know she had a personality at all."

He looked her over and asked, "How's afterlife treating you?"

She dropped her gaze. "Don't ask. It's just horrible; you know that."

"Did you get the letter I sent in August?"

"I did! Thank you. No one ever sent me a letter before. Not since I died. Professor Dumbledore delivered it himself because Filch refused."

Draco scowled. The idea of Filch interfering with his mail disturbed him on several levels. "We should get even with Filch later."

Myrtle giggled. "Oh, don't worry. He's _terribly_ afraid of toilets now."

Draco was delighted. "You're a treasure, Myrtle."

"Your letter was so sad. And funny! I don't understand how it could be both."

He looked away and sighed. "It was a hard summer, but I'm still me."

When he met her gaze again, she was reaching out a hand, as if to touch his cheek, but she thought better of it and said, "I wanted to send a letter back, but I couldn't figure out how."

"Let's both give it some thought. We'll think of something. Myrtle, I wanted to ask you if you've heard about Sirius Black."

"Oh, yes! Professor Dumbledore talked to all of the ghosts about him. He sounds _dreadful_. I don't remember him as a student. We're keeping watch."

She smiled and her eyes gleamed as she continued, "Just _think_ what would happen if he blew up a dozen students. It would be worse than my basilisk! If we see Sirius Black, we're to tell Professor Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall right away. Or if we see any of those horrible dementors on school grounds. Dementors are _so_ creepy. I'm glad we ghosts are immune to them."

"Me, too. Did he say what Black is likely to do?"

"Professor Dumbledore says the Ministry says that Mr. Potter is his target, but he's not sure, himself."

"Interesting." Draco looked around. "Hey, what happened to the mistletoe?"

"Peeves stole it. He said a lot of mean things, too."

"Peeves is an ill-mannered oaf and a disgrace to Hogwarts. You don't mind if I replace it in December, do you?"

She looked at him sidelong. It was hard to tell, but he thought she was blushing.

Draco added, "There's this girl I promised to kiss."

"Not that bossy girl with the bushy hair?"

"Hermione Granger. Her, too. But not here. I'm talking about a second-year. Ginny Weasley. And you, of course—I'm quite looking forward to that. But I'm afraid I'll be three-timing you, Myrtle."

"I don't like this, Draco." Tears rolled down Myrtle's cheeks. She said in a trembling voice, "It's demeaning, you kissing girls in _my_ bathroom. Why should I go along with it?"

"You three-timed me last year! This just evens things up."

Myrtle stamped her foot, misjudging it slightly and sending her toes a few inches into the floor. "Don't blame _me._ You were callously _using_ me to prank those two boys! Me, an innocent young girl! It was awful."

Draco laughed. He knew Myrtle hadn't found it awful in the least. After a moment, Myrtle laughed, too. Her laugh had an unearthly tinkling quality, as if delicate glass vases were being dropped one by one onto a granite floor. Draco wanted to hear it again.

He said, "Maybe the lad of your dreams will just happen to wander in. Do you have anyone special in mind?"

"Is it too much to wish for Harry Potter again? He's a dreamboat! Not to look at, but he's _such_ a hero. You should have seen him, all covered in blood and with a sword as tall as he was, after rescuing the fair maiden and avenging _my_ death by killing the basilisk. It was _so_ romantic!"

"Consider it done. But you have to promise not to haunt any girls I bring in here."

"I suppose." Once more, her eyes overflowed with tears. She hid her face in her hands and sobbed. But soon she lowered her hands and glared at him, saying, "Will I even see you again before your December debauchery?"

He took out his schedule. "Hmm, let me see ... you're not busy on Tuesday, are you?"

Her laugh really was extraordinary.

* * *

On October 16, Hermione practically ran to the library for her evening study session with Draco. In spite of her haste, he was already sitting in the window seat. He looked up from his book, saw her distress, then set the book down and patted the empty place next to him. She sat and flung her arms around him. After all these weeks, he still needed his sling.

One of the many things she adored about Draco was that he knew when not to ask questions. He wasn't silent, though. He held her with his good arm and murmured in a slow, soothing voice. "This is good. You're a delectable armful, Hermione; you're the best. Better than the best. So cuddlesome, and your hair smells nice, too. Don't think you have to tell me your troubles right away. I'm enjoying this."

But she needed to tell him, so it wasn't long before she said, "Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"Am I a bad friend?"

"You're my wonderful Hermione and you're a better friend on your worst day than anyone else on their best day. Except me, of course."

She paused, knowing he wouldn't ask but wishing he would, then said, "Crookshanks chased Scabbers—and not in a playful way. In an 'I'm going to kill you right now' way. He didn't catch him, but Ron's really angry with me. I feel so bad and I don't know what to _do!"_ She began to cry.

Draco murmured, "Shh, now. Everything will be all right."

"I took Crookshanks' side and acted like Scabbers didn't matter! I'm a bad friend, Draco; I really am."

"You're doing all right. Of course you are. You have to protect Crookshanks, even when he makes mistakes. Especially then. That's what being a friend is all about. Just be thankful he's so much smarter than Goyle."

"But—"

"And you're being too nice. Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Granger?"

She managed a smile. "I'm sorry, Malfoy. Sometimes I get upset and forget trivial little things like you."

"That's better. Your eyes are a beautiful shade of red tonight."

She took out her handkerchief and dried her tears. "I wish you'd get your arm fixed, Malfoy. I'm getting tired of your left-handed compliments."

"That was a left-handed _insult,_ Granger. But I don't suppose you've heard enough compliments to know the difference."

"What should I do about Crookshanks?"

"You might ask for advice from Hagrid and whichever Weasleys are handy. You don't have to do this alone, you know. You can make it a group project and still get top marks."

"I suppose."

"You _do_ realize that Crookshanks is a magical creature, don't you?"

"Really? What kind?"

"No idea. But he feels magical to me. Hagrid can probably tell you more."

"All right." She cuddled closer to him but couldn't relax. She sighed. She'd hoped to keep her other issue to herself. "I have another problem, Malfoy."

"Of course you have. A gigantic problem, terrifying and horrible. It gnaws at your vitals. You can't eat. You can't sleep. You have no one to turn to. In short, you're doomed. It's me, isn't it?"

She smiled up at him. "Not this time. Harry doesn't have permission to go to Hogsmeade and I'm afraid he'll sneak out anyway."

Draco stiffened. "That's bad."

"Why?"

"What happened on Halloween last year?"

"The Chamber of Secrets was opened. But that can't happen again!"

"And the year before that?"

"A troll almost killed me. But think logically, Draco! It must be a coincidence."

"And what happened on October 31, 1981?"

She tried to remember. "Oh! Harry's parents were killed, and so was You-Know-Who, sort of."

"Name three common elements in these events."

"Halloween, Harry Potter, and You-Know-Who." Somehow it was more convincing if she said the words herself. Not that Draco would hesitate to use the Socratic Method to pull her leg. She studied his face to see if he was teasing, but he looked grim.

Draco said, "You see the pattern. You-Know-Who makes a big move on Halloween, and he does it in the vicinity of Potter."

"Why?"

"Does it matter? Maybe You-Know-Who is just a superstitious idiot. Maybe synchronicity is a side effect of whatever happened in 1981. But it's the wrong day to leave Potter unprotected and alone. Most of the teachers will be in Hogsmeade, too, you know."

"I didn't know that."

"And if Potter sneaks out, that's even worse! It's like he's dousing himself in steak sauce and marching into the lion's den. We need to do something."

She saw his point, but what could they do? "Like what?"

"I'll tell Snape my Halloween theory. He doesn't like Hogsmeade—not when it's overrun with students—so he'll be here anyway."

"Will he help?"

"Of course he'll help! Snape is the most loyal, powerful, and quick-witted of Dumbledore's paladins. His prejudice against Potter is neither here nor there. Not when You-Know-Who is involved."

"Are you sure?"

"Trust me on this. I know Snape through and through. He'll protect Potter. And he'll warn Dumbledore, too, especially if I ask him to. Maybe they can steal a march on You-Know-Who this time."

"All right … Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"I've never asked you this … I hope it's all right. Where do you stand, exactly, regarding You-Know-Who?"

He looked around carefully. No one was near. Then he got up and walked around, making a wider sweep. Satisfied, he sat down again and put an arm around her. Very softly, he whispered in her ear, "I want him dead."

His words shocked her, though she'd half-expected them. She murmured, "Tell me why."

"You were petrified because of him. He made Weaselette do terrible things. He killed unicorns in the Forbidden Forest and sent a troll into Hogwarts, and it almost killed you. And … you're my second soul, Hermione. I'd never tell anyone else. Father … he's not all there, because of him. He was getting better, little by little. He really was. Most of the time it didn't show at all. But once that diary was in play … I'd never seen Mother cry before."

Hermione thought of all the times Draco had bragged about his father in public. She imagined that it had started out as simple hero worship, then as a child's increasingly desperate wishful thinking, and finally as a sad cover-up, a way of concealing the family's grief and despair, a way of keeping the _idea_ of Lucius Malfoy alive against the dwindling hope of his recovery. She looked up into Draco's face. Even now—with her!—he was hiding his anguish: his body rigid, his face a mask. She burst into tears and sobbed against his good shoulder.

* * *

Returning from Hogsmeade, Hermione was happier than she'd dared hope, especially considering that she hadn't entered a single one of Hogsmeade's three tiny book shops. Ron had flatly refused to set eyes on a book during his day away from school. But her main purpose today had been making up with him. Rather to her surprise, it had been a tremendous success.

Ron was in even higher spirits than she was. Since one of their goals had been to buy stuff for Harry, and Harry had given both of them money for the purpose, Ron had spent far more freely than usual. He'd enjoyed every minute of it. Every time Ron wondered if something was too expensive, Hermione had said, "I think Harry will like it," and every time he had tried to decide between two items, she'd said, "Let's get both." No one had ever encouraged Ron to spend money before! Soon they were laughing and chattering as if they'd never quarreled. It was such a relief! And they'd barely managed to spend half of what Harry had given them, so that was all right.

The amount of swag they'd bought was almost mind-boggling. Harry was unlikely to feel deprived for a very long time.

But she still missed Draco. Draco wouldn't be tempted to spend all day in a sweets shop! He'd insist on strolling around, murmuring outrageous comments about everything in sight, making her blush like a sunset and laugh so hard she couldn't breathe. How happy they'd be when their love didn't have to be kept secret!

She'd caught sight of Draco four times. First he was with Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy, talking loudly and making expansive gestures with his left arm as the others laughed; the classic Draco. Then he was with Millie, Theo, and Pansy. Theo was talking earnestly to Draco, who listened intently while the girls glared at each other. The third time, Draco was walking jauntily with Mille and Theo, all three of them looking relaxed and happy. Hermione felt a stab of jealousy. When it was time to return to Hogwarts, Draco was with Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy again, silent and withdrawn. Hermione could tell that his arm was aching. Pansy took his good hand in hers, but he shook his head slightly and she let go. Hermione was almost certain that he'd squeezed her hand, though. She felt another stab of jealousy.

Draco had given her a tip about Zonko's joke shop: many of their products were clever or subtle or both; well worth studying. And the clerks loved to talk shop, even if it meant ignoring other customers. Draco recommended that she go around the shop once to identify the most interesting products, then summon a clerk to explain them.

This had worked wonderfully. Of course, it was a joke shop, so most of the products were intended only to fool the intended victim for a few seconds. But some really worked. And some of the ones that didn't work were more impressive than the ones that did. The Portable Holes were especially convincing, and Hermione couldn't for the life of her figure out how the illusion was created. She bought one, plus a Random Hairstyle Comb for Harry.

The Random Hairstyle Comb looked like an ordinary comb, but the victim's hair rearranged itself into a genuine but unpredictable hairstyle after a few minutes' delay.

Harry's determinedly messy hair resisted all known methods of taming it, so a scientific experiment was a necessity. Ron said he expected the comb to explode as soon as it touched Harry's head, or at least burst into flames. He seemed happy at the prospect, but it didn't seem safe to Hermione.

She'd been concerned that the dementors would drain all the enjoyment out of her day, but they had backed off and could only be seen in the distance, and Hermione has hardly felt them at all.

* * *

When Hermione and Ron gave Harry his swag, Harry told them of his visit to Professor Lupin's office and how Snape had swept in with a sinister-looking potion, which Lupin had drunk without hesitation. Harry and Ron were convinced that Snape's obvious loathing for Lupin meant he would try to poison him. Hermione found this far-fetched. Draco would insist that Snape wouldn't poison anyone unless Dumbledore wanted him poisoned.

The Halloween feast started soon after their return, featuring elaborate decorations, food, and entertainment. Hermione was surprised by how much she ate, considering how much she'd already eaten in Hogsmeade. But the food and treats were wonderful even by Hogwarts' high standards.

A glance at the Slytherin table showed that Draco had put very little on his plate and wasn't even pretending to eat it. He was almost silent and ignored most of the entertainment. Hermione wanted to believe he was just tired, but it had to be his arm. Usually, when he was feeling down, he hid it by pushing himself to seem as cheerfully obnoxious as ever, but he just couldn't manage it tonight.

She wished he'd walk over to the staff table for a word with Madam Pomfrey. He wouldn't, though. Not in front of so many people. She decided to keep an eye on him when they all left. If he was thinking at all clearly, he'd head straight to the hospital wing after the feast, but he wouldn't go alone. Not tonight.

Sir Nicholas, the Gryffindor ghost, staged a surprisingly good reenactment of his own botched beheading and got a huge round of applause.

As always, everyone stayed until the end of the feast, even Draco, who clearly wanted to be elsewhere. When the treats vanished, they all left at once.

Draco roused himself to shout at Harry, "The dementors send their love, Potter!" Just for a moment, he seemed larger than life, brimming with energy and confidence. Harry heard the taunt but shrugged it off. Hermione was proud of him. After Harry turned away, Draco's powerful presence flickered and went out, and he was just a weary boy whose face gave nothing away.

Once out of the Great Hall, the students streamed away in four directions. Make that five directions—Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle headed towards the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was not far behind them. Good.

When Hermione reached Gryffindor tower, the corridor was choked with students, blocking their access to the portrait hole.

"Why isn't anyone going in?" asked Ron.

Hermione couldn't see anything, either. She stood on tiptoe, but it didn't help. So many students were taller than her! Would she have to resign herself to being petite for the rest of her life? But she loved how Draco was so much taller, so maybe it was a good thing.

Percy pushed through the crowd, then said firmly, "Somebody get Professor Dumbledore. Quick."

Ginny joined Hermione and asked what was going on. Just then, Professor Dumbledore arrived. His ability to appear when called was uncanny. The crowd parted and he joined Percy.

Hermione got a glimpse of the trouble through this gap. The portrait of the Fat Lady had been slashed many times. Large chunks of canvas had fallen from the frame completely.

Shocked by the sight, Hermione felt dizzy and clutched at Harry's arm. She heard herself say, "Oh, my." She regained her equilibrium in seconds but was a little embarrassed by her lapse.

More teachers arrived. Dumbledore looked grave. His slow voice held a rare note of command. "We need to find her. Professor McGonagall, please go to Mr. Filch at once and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady."

A deeply unpleasant male voice screeched, "You'll be lucky!"

"What do you mean, Peeves?" said Dumbledore with admirable calm.

Peeves the Poltergeist looked warily at Dumbledore and whined, "Ashamed, Your Headship, sir. Doesn't want to be seen. She's a _horrible_ mess. Saw her running through the landscape up to the fourth floor, sir, dodging between the trees." The memory pleased him. He grinned and the malice reappeared in his voice. "Crying something _dreadful."_ He remembered who he was talking to and added, "Poor thing."

"Did she say who did it?" asked Dumbledore.

"Oh, yes, Professorhead. He got very angry when she wouldn't let him in, you see." Peeves' grin grew impossibly wide as he savored his punch line. "Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black."

* * *

_[Next: Slingless in Slytherin]_

_Thanks for reading! Please favorite and review. And don't hesitate to make suggestions. Some of my best ideas are, in fact, yours._


	30. Slingless in Slytherin

**Slingless in Slytherin**

After the slashed and tattered portrait of the Fat Lady was discovered, the Gryffindors were hustled back to the Great Hall. Soon the students from the other Houses joined them. Lights-out was announced and everyone bedded down in the sleeping bags provided.

Hermione was concerned that Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, and Madam Pomfrey were nowhere to be seen. She almost pointed this out to one of the prefects, but Draco's other friends would surely have reported this already.

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle appeared at breakfast as if nothing had happened. Alone among the students, they didn't look as if they'd slept in their clothes. They must have visited their dormitory first. Madam Pomfrey arrived a couple of minutes later.

This being Sunday, Hermione met Draco in their nook in the library before lunch.

She asked him, "What happened to you, Malfoy?"

"Nothing to speak of. I know you saw me leave for the hospital wing after the feast. I overdid my exercises before Hogsmeade and it all caught up with me last night. We were told to stay in the infirmary while the castle was searched for my black-sheep cousin, and in the end we spent the night there."

"How's your arm?"

"Don't ask. Another minor setback."

"What I _meant_ was," she began, and then blushed.

"Ah. Snogging. Good idea."

They moved to her study room, but his mind was far away. She asked, "Draco?"

"Sorry. Maybe we should deal with the other stuff first."

"You start."

"So Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban and the Dementors didn't notice a thing, right?"

"Right."

"So if you want to recapture Black, who's the stupidest choice for the job?"

Hermione said, "The Dementors." Why hadn't she thought of this earlier?

"Have you ever heard of Dementors being used as detectives or bloodhounds?"

"No, never." And she'd read up on them, too.

"Then why are they here?"

"I don't know."

Draco nodded. "Exactly. No matter how you look at it, it doesn't make any sense. And another thing—Cousin Sirius was a Gryffindor. He'd _know_ that it takes more than a knife to get past the Fat Lady! So that doesn't make any sense, either."

"What could be going on?"

"I have no idea." He sighed and stared into space.

"Draco, it's time to focus solely on your girlfriend."

With an effort, he pulled himself back to the here and now and found his smile. "Well, of course it is."

"No absent-minded kissing like we've been together a hundred years already." Not that he ever had. Draco gave her all his attention or none.

"Certainly not," he said, beginning to remove his sling."

"Especially because today's the day where you announce that it's time we learned open-mouthed kissing, with tongues and everything."

He was taken aback. For a moment she was afraid he'd refuse. But he put his arms around her and said, "Tongues. Ye gods. This is sure to be undignified."

"Yes."

"Try not to laugh."

"Of course."

He looked into her eyes. When Draco looked into her eyes, he _really_ looked. He saw something this time. He shivered and his mood changed. He seemed to grow larger, more present, more serious. All levity gone, he kissed her so softly that she wondered if it had really happened at all. Gently, slowly, as if in a dream, he ignored what they just talked about and began kissing her the way he always had, but with a gravity he'd never shown before, as if god had created the world not with a word, but with kisses just like these. Soon her heart was racing and mind was befuddled. Only then did try anything new.

He was clumsy. He was every bit as inexperienced as she was. His aura had shifted again and he was only a boy, but a boy who loved her with all his heart, who had enough conviction for both of them.

After a while they pulled back. Draco was a bit breathless and she could feel his right arm trembling ever so faintly. Hermione pulled out her handkerchief and wiped her mouth. She said, "Don't you dare make a joke right now."

He pulled out his own handkerchief and smiled. "I love you, Hermione."

She leaned against him and he put his arms around her. She felt so safe with him! She'd fallen asleep like this three times in the last week. She'd been embarrassed the first time, but Draco had just laughed at her, so she knew it was all right. She rested quietly in his arms for several minutes, then said, "Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't deserve you."

"Maybe you did something awful in a previous life."

"I meant it the other way around."

"Who do you deserve, then?"

"I don't know. Someone like Neville, I suppose. Or Ron."

"Their only purpose on this Earth is to make me look irresistible. Sort of a waste, really, since I _am_ irresistible."

"Who do you think is proper competition for you, then?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I don't have any. I'm almost as unequaled as you."

* * *

"You're a fourteen-carat idiot, Snako," said Ginny. Draco had his sling off and was doing the exercises for his arm. They were in a disused classroom. He was pushing himself beyond the limits set by Madam Pomfrey _again,_ using a heavier dumbbell and more sets of repetitions than he was supposed to. He _knew_ how badly this had turned out last time!

"I'm a Malfoy," replied Draco as sweat ran down his face. "Eighteen carats, minimum."

"I take it back. You're a twenty-four carat idiot."

"That's better."

"Pure, yes, but too soft for practical use."

He laughed. "You have a tongue like a viper, young Weasley. You'll never attract a rich husband that way."

"I don't want a rich husband. I want Harry."

"He's rich."

Ginny was surprised. "He is?"

"Absolutely. Last survivor of the House of Potter. The inheritances of all the cousins who were never born ended up in his vault."

"I didn't know that."

"It's true. Potter won the jackpot in his clan's impotence lottery."

"Like you did?"

Draco froze. His eyes stared at nothing.

"Snako?" Ginny blushed but didn't look away.

He soon came back to himself. He sighed and met her wide-eyed gaze. She was biting her lip.

He said, "I think there's something wrong with my brain, Weasel Girl. If I can dish it out, I should be able to take it."

Ginny said hesitantly, "It can't be that you're thirteen years old, right? A Malfoy has to eighteen, minimum."

"Obviously."

* * *

When Draco arrived at breakfast, he was surprised to see the Hufflepuff Quidditch captain, Cedric Diggory, at the Slytherin table. He was deep in conversation with his Slytherin counterpart, Marcus Flint.

"How's the arm, Malfoy?" asked Diggory. Draco was wearing his sling, though he was heartily sick of it and _maybe_ could get through the day without it.

Draco raised his eyebrows in an expression of surprised innocence, then turned to Flint. "Morning, Marcus."

"Morning, Draco. Diggory is considering asking to swap games with us. He'll play Gryffindor instead of us next week."

Diggory said, "I'm sure even Potter wants to beat you fair and square, Malfoy."

"Potter? Never heard of him," said Draco.

Diggory continued, "But I want to be sure that your arm really is messed up before I ask Hooch and McGonagall to swap games. Word is that it's a ruse."

Draco said, "They are wise to fear my genius. Who has a quill and some parchment? Take this down: 'I, Draco Malfoy, authorize Cedric Diggory to hear an honest description of my physical condition.'"

He signed the document left-handed and said, "Take that to Madam Pomfrey."

Diggory said, "Thanks, Malfoy."

"Who put you up to this?"

"Nobody. It was my idea," said Diggory.

"Good. I owe you one, Diggory. I couldn't ask for this because Potter caught the Snitch left-handed last year, and I'll be damned if I ever ask for more than he got."

Diggory smiled. "That's the spirit."

* * *

The Saturday of the first Quidditch match dawned with a tremendous amount of wind and rain. Draco blessed Cedric Diggory. As likely as not, the wind would have blown Draco right off his broom. And the terrible weather would favor Diggory over Potter. Virtue was likely to be rewarded for once.

Before the match, Crabbe appeared with a huge umbrella and Draco put some spells on it to strengthen it. He waterproofed their robes while he was at it.

He decided they'd sit at the front of the Slytherin section, where it would be a little less windy. They were surprised when Professor Snape sit down next to them. He didn't have an umbrella or even a hat. Instead, the raindrops veered away as if they didn't dare inconvenience him.

Is something up, sir?" asked Draco.

"We shall see."

The game lasted all afternoon. The weather got worse and worse. Gryffindor called time out after the first flash of lightning. Hermione ran onto the field as soon as the Gryffindor team landed, then scampered back again a minute later, looking pleased. She looked wonderful in spite of her soaking wet hair. Play resumed.

The lightning continued. Soon it would be dark and it would become impossible to follow the game.

Draco noticed Diggory suddenly change course. Had he seen the Snitch?

But then Draco felt a chill that went far beyond the horrible weather. After a moment's confusion, he realized that it was a Dementor. Multiple Dementors. Dozens, maybe a hundred were streaming onto the field, ragged black cloaks flapping in the gale.

The stands had grown silent. Draco sat frozen. Snape sprang gracefully to his feet and drew his wand. This somehow freed Draco, and a moment later he was on his feet and tearing off his sling.

Snape's mouth opened … but another voice spoke first. Albus Dumbledore, far across the stands but clearly audible, commanded, _"Expecto Patronum!"_

Then, in quiet and strangely loving tones, Snape said, _"Expecto Patronum."_ Brilliant white mist streamed from his and Dumbledore's wands, billowing to where the Dementors stood, all their faces turned up towards Harry Potter on his broom. Draco drew his wand.

Several other voices called,_ "Expecto Patronum!"_ McGonagall, Flitwick, and others Draco couldn't identify. White mist, dazzlingly bright, reached the Dementors from several angles. The brightest came from Dumbledore.

The knowledge that he was fighting alongside Snape and Dumbledore filled Draco with a fierce joy, and he quite forgot to concentrate on a happy memory. _"Expecto Patronum!"_ he shouted, his voice cracking. White mist shot out of his wand and raced towards the Dementors, who were already fleeing. An image of Hermione Granger floated into Draco's mind, concentrating adorably on blowing out her birthday candles, and he laughed. The mist pouring out of his wand became far brighter.

And then, suddenly, the last of the Dementors had vanished. Draco's joy turned to rage. He didn't want them gone, he wanted them _dead._ Every single one of them. He needed them to come back and be killed! Could he pursue them? He could try!

A hand came down on his shoulder. "Well done, Draco," said Snape. "Very well done. The battle is over. We won. It's time to calm down now. Calm down."

With an effort, Draco managed to close his eyes and take a calming breath. A ragged cheer came from the stands.

"Sit," said Snape. Draco almost fell into his seat.

Coming back to himself was painful, and what was his reward? Violent shaking and barely controlled nausea. His arm was stiff and cold but not numbed, because it ached.

His teeth chattering, he asked, "What … what was the cheer?"

"Mr. Diggory caught the Snitch."

"Oh." Draco couldn't wrap his mind around Quidditch right now.

McGonagall's voice announced over the magical megaphone. "Mr. Potter's injuries are not serious. Victory: Hufflepuff. All students return to your common rooms."

Potter had been injured? How? At the moment he didn't have the strength to ask.

"You can have a minute or two to gather your strength, Mr. Malfoy," said Snape. "No more. I need to tend to my other Slytherins."

Draco got to his feet at once and stood swaying. Crabbe and Goyle hovered, ready to support him or even carry him. After a moment, he said, "Let's try walking."

The first few steps were bad, but then he walked steadily enough; no worse than many other half-frozen students who'd grown stiff during the long game. His nausea was fading, too. Snape departed.

Draco was feeling blank. He'd have marshal his thoughts later. But he'd noticed that, of all the Patronus Charms today, his had been by far the feeblest. He'd never imagined facing a _hundred_ Dementors! And they were after Potter, which meant that Hermione would surely place herself in the line of fire next time. He had a lot more work to do.

Still shivering, he continued on to the castle. Crabbe told him that Potter had fallen from his broom under the combined gaze of all the Dementors.

Draco muttered to himself, "Maybe I shouldn't envy Potter quite so much."

His arm really hurt.

* * *

Harry was released in time for breakfast on Monday. He sat down between Ron and Hermione and started eating, but didn't make much headway because he was immediately bombarded with questions from everyone but Ron and Hermione, who had spend many hours at his bedside in the hospital wing. Colin Creevey, as always, was the most insistent.

Harry's broom had been destroyed as a side effect of the Dementor attack. After Harry had fallen off, it had been blown into the Whomping Willow, which had pulverized it. So after Colin ran out of questions about the accident ("How's the arm?" "Did it hurt?" "I think Dementors are scary, don't you?" and "It's a shame about losing the game, isn't it?"), his mention of his broken Nimbus 2000 unleashed a verbal free-for-all of advice about what kind of broom he should buy.

Draco arrived as this was winding down, accompanied by Crabbe and Goyle. He wasn't wearing his sling. He celebrated by saying in a falsetto voice, "Dementors! Somebody save me! Oh, I feel that I must swoon … Excuse me while I fall off this broom," and then, closing his eyes and windmilling his arms, he toppled sideways.

Harry turned red and muttered some _very_ bad words under his breath. Hermione had to pretend she hadn't heard. Harry hadn't noticed that almost everyone had looked away when Draco did this clowning. Nobody thought the Dementors were funny anymore.

That evening, Draco admitted to Hermione in private that he was disturbed by the Dementors. That they preferred Harry to everyone else, he reasoned, meant they were controlled by You-Know-Who. And the Ministry was letting it happen!

He enlightened her about something unexpected: when she told him about having finished her report on werewolves for Snape, Draco asked, "Why do you think Snape did that?"

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. "I don't like to say."

"What _I _concluded was that Snape is hinting that Lupin is a werewolf."

"Draco!" Hermione was shocked; she'd been certain no one had figured it out but her.

"I think he's getting revenge on Lupin for the whole boggart thing, with Neville picturing Snape in drag and all."

"So you think it's just a silly lie?"

"Could be. Snape isn't above lying, especially by implication. We'll know for sure in a month or two. Lunar illnesses are a real giveaway."

* * *

When the holidays drew near, Draco asked Hermione, "Who's staying behind this Christmas?"

"Just me, Ron, and Harry in Gryffindor. Why?"

"I had an idea. Weasel Girl or the twins could take Scabbers home and leave him there. He'd be well looked after and far away from Crookshanks."

"That's a wonderful idea!"

"You don't have to sound surprised."

Hermione was uncertain about Ron's reaction, so she shared the idea with Ginny and the twins first. All three approved and put it to Ron, but he was immovable. Scabbers stayed with him, period.

Fred told her afterwards, "We did that one wrong. We should have just kidnapped Scabbers and sent Ron a note after we got home."

George added, "But we thought he'd be glad to get rid of him. Mum would've taken good care of him. Poor old rat."

* * *

Draco waited in the corridor for Ginny to arrive at Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. He was partly concealed behind a statue. Ginny had extracted a promise from him a year ago to kiss her under the mistletoe. Tomorrow the Hogwarts Express would take them to London for the holidays, so it was now or never.

She arrived on time, walking briskly, looking a little nervous. Draco stepped out from behind the statue without startling her and opened the door for her. They went in and Draco closed the door.

Ginny's jaw dropped as she took in Myrtle's bathroom. There had been changes. The room had been neglected for many years, and the Chamber of Secrets adventure had left it looking worse than ever. But now everything had been put to rights, with all the damage repaired. Every surface gleamed. At least, every surface not obscured by the holly, mistletoe, Christmas trees, wreaths, and decorations gleamed.

"Draco," breathed Ginny, forgetting to use his nickname. "It's wonderful!"

"Isn't it, though?" said Draco smugly. "I asked myself if I wanted this place to remind you of Tom Riddle and Harry Potter on the one hand, or me on the other, and, just like that, I knew the right answer."

"I'll bet." She looked at him anxiously. "Are you sure this is all right?"

"I'm sure." Ginny had asked Hermione if it was really okay so many times that Hermione had practically begged him to kiss Ginny and get it over with. Her only stipulation was "no tongues." And Draco felt strongly that _somebody_ needed to kiss Ginny under the mistletoe. Was it his fault that he was the only one who recognized this? Probably, but he wasn't going to let _that_ stop him. It was just a delicious, soul-satisfying bonus that giving Ginny her first kiss would put him one-up on Harry Potter.

She asked, "We agreed on two kisses, right?"

"Right. Not counting the practice kisses."

"Okay."

"Or the warm-up kisses."

"Don't push your luck, Snako."

He set his school bag on the floor, then positioned her under the largest bunch of mistletoe and took her in his arms. She felt warm and very much alive. She put her cheek against his shoulder. They'd hugged before and were comfortable with each other. Eventually she looked up at him, searching his face before saying, "Practice kiss?"

"Not necessarily," he said, and kissed her. She kept her eyes open, as did he, and he saw her eyes widen slightly when their lips met.

When the kiss ended, she said, "Oh."

"Hmm?"

"You _meant_ that."

"Of course I did."

"I thought it was just a game to you."

"No."

"Is … is that all right?"

"Absolutely."

She looked troubled, then suddenly smiled at him and said, "Practice kiss number two."

He kissed her again.

Afterwards she sighed and said, "I think we'd better count that as a real kiss. One more?"

"Certainly."

She closed her eyes this time. After the kiss, she kept them closed and murmured, "I was going to pretend you were Harry, and then … I didn't." She opened her eyes and added, "But don't get any funny ideas!"

They stood quietly, still holding each other. After a while she said, "You know what I like about you, Snako?"

"There's so much to choose from! I give up. What?"

"You believe in me. You really do. And you know what?"

"No, what?"

"You believe in Harry, too, don't you?"

Draco was silent.

"Well?" she prompted.

"I'm not going to say it."

"Are you going to deny it?"

He hesitated, then sighed. "No."

"Close enough." She stepped back and took both his hands in hers. "Thanks, Snako. You're the best practice boyfriend ever. Happy Christmas." She kissed him on the cheek and departed, grinning.

Myrtle ghosted through one of the stalls a moment later and gazed at Draco thoughtfully. She told him, "She's prettier than the last Heir of Slytherin."

Draco laughed. "Tom Riddle? Not my type."

"He wasn't _anybody's _type. He was _so_ creepy! That girl's too young for you, Draco; a mere child. You should be ashamed."

Draco smiled. "I am. Exceedingly. You, on the other hand, are an older woman, even if you don't look a day over fifteen."

"Draco …"

"No more comparisons. We'd both feel bad."

"Oh, all right. I like the idea of practice kisses."

"I thought you might."

"Because it means our earlier kisses don't count and we need to do that much again."

"To tell you the truth, I don't need an excuse to kiss you again. Not under the mistletoe."

Embarrassed, Myrtle fled into her favorite stall.

Soon she returned and asked, "Is Miss Granger really okay with all of this?"

"Suppose I said she isn't, and she's crying her eyes out even as we speak?"

Myrtle's face lit up. Her eyes gleamed and she wore an evil grin. "Oh, _Draco!_ You say the sweetest things!" She advanced on him slowly, building the suspense, then finally kissed him. She was as insubstantial as smoke, except that he felt a deep chill at any point of contact. Careful to allow only their lips to touch, she soon had him shivering.

After the kiss, Myrtle said, "Miss Weasley is right, you know."

"About what?"

"When you kiss a girl, you mean it. How can you mean it? I've been dead for fifty years! And I'm not even pretty." She began to cry.

"Oh, come now, Myrtle! At some point, _every_ boy kisses a ghost girl under the mistletoe in the girl's loo and means it. It's the most ordinary thing in the world. Besides, I brought you a present."

She stopped crying at once. "Really?"

"Happy Christmas. I'm not sure you'll like it." He pulled a wrapped package from his bag.

Myrtle was delighted. "Can you open it for me, please?"

Draco unwrapped it, revealing a large framed black-and-white photo of a girl about Myrtle's age, wearing an old-fashioned Hogwarts uniform with a Ravenclaw badge.

Myrtle gave a delighted shriek that reminded Draco of steam whistles and fingernails on blackboards. "Olive Hornby! Oh, Draco, you shouldn't have!"

After her death, Myrtle had haunted Olive Hornby relentlessly until the Ministry had forced her to stop. The photo of Olive was magical, so it moved with a good imitation of Olive Hornby's expression and body language, though it was silent. The girl in the photo stared at Myrtle in dismay.

"I'll hang it wherever you like," said Draco.

Myrtle gleefully selected a spot close to where Olive had stood when she'd discovered Myrtle's body. Draco attached the picture to the wall. Myrtle gloated over the picture and began talking to it almost at once, never taking her eyes off it.

Draco said goodbye. Myrtle nodded absently and Draco departed, chuckling.

* * *

_[Next: Christmas Without You]_

_[Please favorite and review! Thanks for reading!]_


	31. Christmas Without You

**Christmas Without You**

* * *

To Hermione Granger, Hogwarts  
From Draco Malfoy, Malfoy House, London  
December 19, 1993

Granger,

Have I mentioned recently that you're a revolting child and disgust me to my very marrow?

Both my parents met the Hogwarts Express (a good sign) and whisked me off to a Healer who gave my arm the once-over. I'm cautiously optimistic. He gave me a new set of exercises and prescribed a course of fifteen numbered potions, one per day, each slightly different. We're spending tonight in London and then we'll be at Malfoy Manor.

Mother plans to drag me to a number of holiday parties. She asked some probing questions about my level of interest in girls. According to my own testimony, my level of interest in girls is nonexistent. I was surprised!

I detest you. I'll write a longer letter tomorrow.

Draco

P.S. It's just not Christmas without you.

* * *

To Draco Malfoy  
From Hermione Granger, Hogwarts  
December 19, 1993

Malfoy,

I'm so angry with you! We visited Hagrid today and he was very upset. He'd received a letter from the Ministry agreeing that your injury wasn't his fault. That's good, but they're referring Buckbeak to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures because of _your father's_ complaint! I promised to help him with his case, of course.

And we learned more about Sirius Black when we were in Hogsmeade, and it's clear you've been holding out on me. How could you?

I won't even mention your disgusting behavior with Ginny. Shame on you, Malfoy!

And Ron is so angry about everything and Harry has gone strange. Hardly anyone is here. It's lonely and it doesn't feel like Hogwarts or Christmas at all.

Hermione

* * *

To Ginny Weasley, The Burrow, Otterly St Catchpole  
From Draco Malfoy, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire  
December 20, 1993

Weasel Girl,

This is going to be one of _those_ letters. Sorry.

She sent me a harsh letter and, of course, it arrived at the worst possible moment. I plunged right into that dark, dark place. I can't even imagine her; not from here. She's just too out of place here. You are, too, but Tom Riddle gave you the guided tour, so you know your way around. I can imagine your face and voice, though only just, and only as I write. Keep me company.

We're not alone, here in the darkness. I can see … too many others, really. Some want me to stay. Others just don't care.

Can I tell you a secret? I have a locket that I never take off. Inside is a picture of her. It's a wonderful picture. I look at it all the time. But when I'm really down, I just can't. I can't look at her and I can't write to her.

She's the best thing that ever happened to me. A miracle. But we both know that "miracle" is just a way of admitting that I don't deserve her. I keep proving it, over and over.

And I need to reply right away and I _can't._ Not when I'm like this.

But at least I have Christmas cheer, right? Well, not exactly. Imagine Christmas at Azkaban, but with richer décor and a better class of Dementor. I wish you were here.

That was very nearly a joke!

I have can feel your hand on my shoulder, as if more than my brain and my pen are involved. Shaking me, getting my attention. Yes, you're right; of course you are. I need to focus on something else. I'll … try.

Here's some advice from your Uncle Draco. Don't let anything keep you from trying out for Quidditch next year. _Especially_ don't defer to your brother. It's about time you abandoned the role of The Littlest Weasley and became your own person. If he wants to be on the team, he can out-fly you in tryouts. Birth order isn't destiny.

And my arm really is getting better. No more practicing my left-handed catches! I'll be ready for the match against the inscrutable (or at least unfriendly) Cho Chang in January.

You were right. That helped. Maybe I can take it from here … Yes. I've opened the locket.

She's beautiful, isn't she? God knows what she sees in me. Thanks, Weasel Girl. You're my best frenemy.

Draco

P.S. You'd think I could set this letter aside or burn it, but I have to send it. Otherwise it isn't real enough and it will never work again. I'm sorry, Ginny.

* * *

To Hermione Granger, Hogwarts  
From Draco Malfoy, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire  
December 20, 1993

Granger,

I received your letter. I miss you; I wish I were there with you. Yes, even when you're angry with me. Especially then. I feel like I've run away; that I've left you to face things alone. (Which I have. Never again.)

Father says that he has cronies on the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. They'll vote his way if he asks them to. Not a majority, though, so there's hope if Hagrid makes a good case.

Maybe you can help me convince Hagrid to let me ride Buckbeak in January. He hates me, but he listens to you. We need to do it before the Committee meets.

I don't like the sound of Weasley #6 being angry and Potter being strange. They need to stay on their toes! Especially Potter.

Frankly, I don't think they've learned to push past their limitations for very long. They revert to being thirteen-year-old boys, and once they do, it's hard to shift them. I don't envy you, my far-seeing Granger. It must be terribly frustrating.

Keep in mind that McGonagall and Dumbledore respect you. They understand both you and the situation, or close enough. You're not truly alone, my heroic Granger.

I see I haven't insulted you once. How strange! Granger, you're the worst. Not only that, but you're addictive! I won't list my withdrawal symptoms, except for the urge to write poetry. The _urge,_ you understand, not the _ability. _Don't ask me to show you any samples. In short, my dear Granger, you are awful-inspiring.

Tonight we're going to Cornelius Fudge's Christmas Party. I'll let you know how it turns out. Fudge will try to make the party as dull as he is, but since he's a bungler, I'm cautiously optimistic.

Draco

P.S. The larger package is for you. Happy Christmas. The smaller one is for Crookshanks.

P.P.S. It's hypothetically possible that there might, in theory, be some alleged things I can't say in a so-called letter. Things that need to be said.

* * *

To Draco Malfoy  
From Hermione Granger, Hogwarts  
December 21, 1993

Malfoy,

I'm still mad at you, but not as much. You can thank Harry and Ron for making you look good by comparison. As you guessed, they're not _listening_ to me!

What on _earth_ did you send to my parents? They told me they got a package from you, but of course they won't open it until Christmas.

You didn't mention Ginny in your letter. How could you not mention Ginny? You didn't mention Sirius Black, either. What's _wrong_ with you, Malfoy? This is infuriating even by your standards!

(It's later now.) I've been thinking about your P.P.S. You have a point. So let's not hash out your loathsome behavior in letters. (_Honestly,_ Malfoy!) It can wait until you come back.

I've enclosed your present. Happy Christmas.

Hermione

* * *

To Draco Malfoy, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire  
From Ginny Weasley, The Burrow, Ottery St Catchpole  
December 25, 1993

Happy Christmas, you snaky Snako!

Your letter made me cry, but I forgive you. What did Hermione _say_ to you? I wish you'd tell me, or at least let me talk to her about your sadder letters.

It's been a fun Christmas so far. Mum and I did lots of girl stuff and Fred and George treat me better when Ron isn't around. (I still haven't figured that one out.) We fly every day until we're frozen solid.

I haven't sent you a Christmas present. I'm trying to not feel guilty. I'm _completely penniless_ and our owl is so feeble and overworked during the holidays that I feel bad just giving him this letter. I loved your gift. You can keep sending me Quidditch books forever and I won't complain!

I know you, Snako. You'd have sent me a cheerful letter by now if you could, so you're still struggling. How does that work, exactly? Do you hide in your room the whole time, or do you appear for meals and events looking all confident and snarky in spite of everything? I'll bet you do.

You told me to insult you in every letter, but … on _Christmas?_ I refuse. It's just _wrong,_ and you're cruel and stupid and funny-looking for asking.

Anyway, happy Christmas from your best frenemy,

Ginny

* * *

To Harry Potter  
From A Friend  
December 25, 1993

I have a Christmas present for you, one that you'll want to keep to yourself. To avoid curious onlookers, I've left it for you in the abandoned girl's bathroom on the second floor, the one with the "Out of Order" sign. My apologies for the location, but no one goes there and it's easy to approach unobserved.

One of the school ghosts, Myrtle Warren, might be there. I understand that you two have met. She knows about the gift and will cause you no trouble.

Wishing you the happiest of holidays,

Father Christmas

* * *

To Draco Malfoy  
From Hermione Granger, Hogwarts  
December 25, 1993

Malfoy?

It's been days since I got a letter from you. Are you all right? Was I too mean? Please write to me.

This has been a _terrible_ Christmas. Some _maniac_ sent Harry a new broom as a gift, with no card or anything, and I wondered if it wasn't a trick. Someone's always attacking Harry during Quidditch, so why not sabotage a broom this time? Harry and Ron were so delighted by the broom that they refused to listen. I asked Professor McGonagall what she thought, and _of course_ she took the broom away to check it for jinxes. Now the boys are furious with me.

And Crookshanks tried to pounce on Scabbers and Ron tried to _kick_ him! Not a nudge with his foot, but a kick with all his strength!

To top it all off, the three of us stood up to leave together at lunch, and Professor Trelawney said one of us will be the first to die of those who were at the meal. She's cruel and incompetent, but it still scares me, and I'm angry at myself for being scared.

Seeing Harry's new broom made me think about expensive gifts, and now I feel bad about those, too. Your gifts are expensive, Malfoy. I can't possibly reciprocate. I don't know what to think anymore.

I don't mean to sound ungrateful! The Self-Writing Quill is a considerate gift. I've been getting terrible writer's cramp from all that homework. I tried not to complain, since your own arm was so much worse, but you noticed anyway. Thank you. I enjoyed your card—so loving and sarcastic. I could hear your voice as I read it.

Everyone else scolds me for taking too many classes, but you find ways to help me succeed. I'm glad you got a quill for yourself at the same time, and it's too bad they didn't arrive earlier, when you needed one. The stationery you included is beautiful.

Crookshanks has been enjoying his Indestructible Enchanted Catnip Mouse. He was frustrated at first because it's very fast and dodges beautifully, but it's limping now and he's doing better. He'll have it completely destroyed by tomorrow.

I wish you were here to cheer me up. I feel bad about _everything_ now. Write to me, Malfoy. Please?

Hermione

* * *

To Hermione Granger, Hogwarts  
From Draco Malfoy, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire  
December 25, 1993

Granger,

I was slowly writing you a gloomy letter, but I see that it's not my turn.

Remember, my sad Granger, that someone loves you with all his heart. (Not _me, _obviously. Yuck! I detest you.) Not least because you'll do the right thing even at the cost of being shunned. The person mad enough to love you assures me that this is _deeply_ _attractive,_ poor devil. Sort of unfair, really. Brains, looks, and moral courage, too! But being a disgusting overachiever was always a good look for you.

I'm upset with Potter and Weasley on your behalf, though I suppose they're off-limits. Trelawney, on the other hand … I think I'll have a word with the Weasley twins after term starts. Her horoscope predicts that she'll be pranked when redheads are ascendant in the House of Gryffindor.

About Potter's broom: You triumphed, Granger, even if it doesn't feel that way. Your naïve little friends were positively _seduced_ by an expensive bribe, but you rescued them from their own unnaturally flexible morals and naturally microscopic brains. They'll thank you eventually.

Oh, before I forget, I'm _amazed_ by the Portable Hole. Thanks very much. Did you really buy it at Zonko's? I'm half-convinced that it actually works. It certainly does _something._ I'll bet it has practical uses that no one has ever thought of.

There's not much to say about my holidays. We've been attending parties every evening and luncheons most afternoons, but I'm an afterthought at best. Pansy was at one of the parties. She tried to steer me under the mistletoe but failed because I'm too naïve and innocent to understand what she wanted. I managed to spend one morning with Theo in his workshop. That was the high point.

At Fudge's party I was actually taken to the room with the little kids! I escaped through a window and re-entered the house through the kitchen door. Fortunately my cousin Tonks was there and we hid out in a side parlor until it was time to leave. (The best food mysteriously accompanied us.)

Like my elusive cousin Sirius, Tonks has been disowned by my family. Actually, her mother was disowned, so she's disowned once removed. I'm not supposed to know she exists, but she took this as a challenge. She snuck in and introduced herself when I was five. She tried to convince me that she was my fairy godmother, but since she was only thirteen at the time, I treated this with the scorn it deserved. We've been friends ever since.

That's about all the news I have.

The person who loves you with all his heart misses you desperately. He misses your smile, your beautiful brown eyes, your quick wit, the way the world is a different place when you're in his arms … everything. It will be a long eight days until the Hogwarts Express returns him to you, but then everything will be perfect.

Or so he says. What a sickening fellow he is! It's hard for me to decide who is more revolting, you or him. Happy Christmas anyway.

Draco

* * *

To Hermione Granger, Hogwarts  
From Ginny Weasley, The Burrow, Ottery St Catchpole  
December 28, 1993

Dear Hermione,

Everyone's in an uproar here! Ron wrote a letter home and _bragged_ about what a prat he's being to you! Mum almost sent him a Howler, but it's too close to Christmas.

Fred and George want you to know that they feel bad about inflicting Ron on you without their wise and mature influence. They'd have stayed behind if they'd thought it through, or at least kidnapped Scabbers.

Are you okay? We're all worried about you! And I'm worried about Snako. He sent one of his super-depressed letters at the start of the holidays and hasn't followed up with anything cheerful, the way he does when he recovers. Cheer each other up, okay? Snako's out of my league.

I'm telling myself that it's not really Harry's fault, that Ron is egging him on, and you'd have made up otherwise, but am I'm making excuses? Harry's just a boy, after all. I wish he'd grow up faster! It's _hard_ waiting for him when he's mostly like any other boy—except that one day a year when he's the most _amazing_ hero. _Please_ tell me if you notice any signs of Harry not being a prat like Ron or actually noticing girls. (But wouldn't it be _awful_ if he gets his first crush on someone totally wrong for him, like Cho Chang? Eww!) You're so lucky, Hermione. I envy you. You and Snako are perfect together.

Ron said Harry's new broom is a Firebolt, but he must be wrong. They're so expensive! Nobody would send anybody a Firebolt for Christmas, especially not anonymously. It's just too much. Everybody knows that McGonagall arranged Harry's Nimbus 2000 and might have paid for it herself, but a Firebolt is _far_ beyond her means. That's what Dad says, anyway.

Ginny

P.S. Say hi to Crookshanks for me.

* * *

To Draco Malfoy  
From Hermione Granger, Hogwarts  
December 30, 1993

Dear Malfoy,

I can't tell you how much I've appreciated getting a letter from you _every day_ since Christmas! And the effort you're making to cheer me up, even though you're feeling down yourself. Ron and Harry have been positively _horrid_ and I've been spending all my time in the library. It's so painful! I cry every day.

Myrtle appeared when I was crying in the bathroom. She asked me to tell you that Father Christmas delivered her gift on time, whatever that means. She must know I'm your girlfriend.

I expected her to be unpleasant (you know how she is), but she asked what was wrong and _really listened_ when I told her about Crookshanks and the broom. She didn't try to cheer me up. She said I was right to cry, that life is terribly tragic, and that I must be very brave. But that's sad, too, she said, because the braver I am, the more I'll suffer. I don't understand how, but I felt a lot better after talking to her.

But I can't blame _all_ my sadness on Ron and Harry. Being pushed away makes me remember the times I pushed _you_ away, including just recently. I'm so sorry! I'm asking you to forgive me, though I know you already have. Thank you.

I'm tired of being sad, Malfoy. Tomorrow night is New Year's Eve. Remember when we were first-years, and kissed at midnight, though we were far apart? Can we do that again? Please? And my New Year's Resolution will be to never push you away again. I'm not saying I won't become angry with you—you _are_ the world's most irritating boy—but I promise I won't hold you at arm's length. I'll hold you tight.

Oh! I've forgotten my manners. Ahem! I hate you and detest you, Draco Malfoy. You're a disgrace even to Slytherin, which hardly seemed possible. Father Christmas refuses to come near you. You're the absolute worst, and you're so … bewildering! After all this time, I still don't understand you. But I'm eager to learn.

With deep detestation and gratitude from

Hermione

P.S. My parents say thank you for the copy of _The Wizarding World and the Muggle World,_ which they say is delightful. I never guessed there were any dual-perspective books by pure-blood/Muggle-born couples!

* * *

To Hermione Granger, Hogwarts  
From Draco Malfoy, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire  
January 1, 1994

Granger,

How do I hate thee? Let me count the ways ... No, that would take several lifetimes. Just for starters, then, I loathe, hate, and despise you always—forever and ever, no matter what happens. With bells on. And the horse you rode in on.

You already know this, but as the clock struck midnight, you were in my arms. It was more vivid than before. I could even feel Crookshanks' presence in the background. We kissed only once, but you held me tight for a long time.

Everything's going to be all right, Hermione. It's been hard, but we made it through, and we always will. We'll see each other tomorrow night.

Draco

P.S. 1994 will be the best year ever.

* * *

_[Next: Up in the Air]_


	32. Up in the Air

**Up in the Air**

Hermione was nervous when Draco stepped into her private study room after the start-of-term feast. They'd both been so miserable over the holidays, and a lot of it was her fault.

Draco looked her up and down with open delight, then took her in his arms. He held her too tight and kissed her hungrily, which flattered and frightened her. Draco was high-strung, obnoxious, and intense, but his touch was always gentle. Not tonight!

It was some time before she summoned the willpower to say, more tentatively than she'd intended, "Draco? We need to talk."

"We don't, you know," he said, pulling back enough to look into her face. His eyes danced. "Not really. But tell your Uncle Draco everything and he'll make it all better."

"I wrote you that I was upset with you about Ginny."

"Yes. Tell me why."

Her anger flared. "You kissed her too well under the mistletoe! She was really impressed!" Her heart sank. She'd ruined his holidays by getting angry over this, and now she was doing it _again!_ She was a terrible girlfriend. She felt her body stiffen and her cheeks grow hot.

He laughed.

He _laughed?_ How could he laugh? She turned her head away. "It's not funny."

"It's all my fault, Hermione. It's down to my youth and inexperience. I never had the chance to learn anything but true love's kiss."

She smiled in spite of herself. "Flatterer."

"Easily solved, though. Just say the word, and I'll practice kissing girls just as incompetently as you like."

She tried to look stern but giggled instead, "Don't you dare!"

She snuggled closer and said, "Ginny said it was as if she's more real to you than she is to herself."

He stroked her hair as he considered this. "Could be. Hardly anyone really sees her."

"She wonders if you love her."

He chuckled. "Well, of course she does! It's the curse of being most eligible bachelor in Hogwarts. _Every_ girl wonders how much I love her. Congratulations, by the way. Top marks, as always."

"Honestly! You're such an idiot!"

"Well spotted. Tell you what. Get together with Weasel Girl and come up with a scorecard that lists every kind of love, so we can see where we all stand. Checkboxes for 'I love ravioli,' 'I love Gilderoy Lockhart'—"

"Draco!"

"Wait, did I say 'Gilderoy Lockhart'?"

"You _know_ you did! I asked you not to."

"Sorry. The name 'Gilderoy Lockhart' won't escape my lips again. Gilderoy Lockhart."

She tried to glare at him but failed again. "Are you making a point or being offensive?"

"Both."

"I don't know why I asked! Are you claiming that your feelings for Ginny are like my old crush on Lockhart?"

"Eww, no! Yuck!" Draco drew back in mock horror.

Fortunately there was a throw pillow within reach. Hermione bonked him with it and they both burst out laughing.

Hermione said, "Maybe we've talked about this enough. No kissing _anyone _but me."

"Of course not."

She eyed him suspiciously. "You think I'm going to relent next Christmas, don't you?"

"'Relent.' That's a good word. Perish the thought."

"You do! Admit it."

"It's nothing to do with _me._ I won't say a word."

"You think I can't stand up to Ginny?"

"Stand up to those big, trusting, pleading eyes? Asking for so little when you have so much? Of course you can! We'll make a Slytherin of you yet!"

She bonked him with the pillow again. He retaliated by tickling her.

* * *

By the end of Care of Magical Creatures class, Hermione was shivering. Hagrid had moved the flobberworms into a drafty shed a couple of hundred yards from his hut, and the gray January day had drained the warmth from her body.

As the class ended and the students dispersed, Draco told Crabbe and Goyle, "Go on ahead, I need to ask about an extra-credit project." They moved off gratefully. Pansy Parkinson, too cold for flirtation, had already gone. So had Harry and Ron, without a backward glance. They were still angry at Hermione.

Hermione told Hagrid, "I asked Malfoy to talk to you again about riding Buckbeak. I think it could really help."

Hagrid looked uneasy, then said, "Come on over to the house, then. I'll make you a cup of tea."

He led the way, his long stride putting him well ahead of them by the time he reached his door. There were a few inches of snow on the ground. When he opened the door, his huge dog Fang barked once in greeting and then bounded out the door. Spotting Draco and Hermione, he circled them once, then jumped up on Draco to lick his face, knocking him down.

Draco laughed and threw his arms around Fang's neck. The two tussled happily.

"Fang! Heel!" said Hagrid, in the sharpest voice Hermione had ever heard from him. Fang immediately detached himself from Draco and raced back to Hagrid.

"Sorry about that," said Hagrid. "Don't know what got into him."

Draco stood and brushed himself off, still smiling. "We're old friends. We fed him when you were gone."

"We?" asked Hagrid, who knew that Hermione had been petrified at the time.

"Longbottom and I fed and walked him three mornings a week."

Hagrid looked suspicious. "I never heard that."

Draco shrugged. "Ask anybody. Potter and Weasley did the same. A lot of us did."

Hagrid didn't look happy at the news, but he ushered them into his hut.

Buckbeak the hippogriff was sprawled on Hagrid's bed. Catching sight of Draco, he leaped off the bed and screamed, flapped his wings, then lunged towards Draco. Hermione shrieked. Hagrid grabbed Buckbeak's collar and hauled him back.

Draco stood frozen in the doorway. He'd gone pale and his eyes were very wide. He trembled. He looked younger than his thirteen years.

As Hermione watched, Draco changed. He stood very straight and seemed to grow older and larger. His eyes became as cold as ice. His face stiffened, masklike, then relaxed into an expression of power and confidence. It was as if he had become his father.

He met the hippogriff's gaze. "Hello, Buckbeak," he said. His voice, though soft, cracked and quavered, but he seemed not to notice. "I see you remember me. It's good to see you again."

Draco bowed to Buckbeak gracefully, as if at the start of a dance.

Buckbeak screamed again. Draco flinched only a little and held his pose. Buckbeak quieted, then strained left and right as if wanting to pace back and forth. Eventually, reluctantly, he returned Draco's bow.

"Straighten up now, Malfoy," said Hagrid, sounding a little dazed. "Keep your eye contact. You can approach if you like, or you can head back outside. Your choice. Don't say nothing stupid."

Draco approached slowly. Hermione was struck by how handsome he was.

"Stroke his beak," muttered Hagrid, keeping a tight grip on Buckbeak's collar. "He likes that."

Draco complied, and soon Buckbeak was cooing with pleasure. Draco's lordly manner evaporated and he was a delighted boy again.

Draco said, "You're magnificent, Buckbeak. The best magical creature I know, by far. Powerful and regal, that's you."

Buckbeak seemed to agree and Draco continued, "I'd be honored to ride you, if you'll have me."

Hagrid said, "Hold on, there! I ain't agreed to nothing yet."

Stroking Buckbeak's neck feathers, Draco said, "How should we discuss this? I'd hate to upset him."

"Let's go back outside," said Hagrid.

When they were outside and the door was closed, Hagrid glared at Draco. "What's your game, Malfoy?"

Draco was surprised. "Granger borrows Creevey's camera. I ride Buckbeak and she takes pictures. We leak the pictures and a story to the _Daily Prophet,_ reporting that I've been overheard saying how happy I was to fly Buckbeak at last. Best hippogriff ever. My father accepts the _fait accompli_ and his complaint is dropped."

"But it'd violate orders from the Committee!"

"I'll make up something that puts you in the clear. A joyride, probably."

"That's a lie, Malfoy!"

Draco sighed. "Father won't give permission if I ask in advance, so it has to be down to my youthful high spirits."

Hagrid was still suspicious. "Why are you doing this?"

"I don't want anything to happen to Buckbeak. It wasn't his fault!"

"Whose fault was it, then?"

"Yours and mine, of course. Mostly yours."

Hagrid recoiled. "The Ministry said I wasn't to blame!"

"I wish they hadn't done that. Father—"

"You wanted me _sacked?"_ said Hagrid, going red in the face.

"No," said Draco. "I—"

But Hagrid wasn't listening. He loomed over Draco and growled, "I've had about enough of you, Malfoy."

Draco paled. Hagrid was eleven feet tall and could kill him at a blow.

Hagrid said, "You Malfoys are all alike—"

"Hagrid!" cried Hermione. "Hagrid, you're scaring him!"

"Acting like you own the place, lying and scheming, selling us out to the Dark Lord. What your mother saw in that Lucius—"

Draco turned bright red. "Don't you _dare_ talk about my mother!" His voice was hoarse and his fists were clenched. He took a step towards Hagrid.

Hagrid turned his back and stomped into his hut. The door slammed a moment later.

Hermione was crying. "I'll go talk to him," she sobbed. "Maybe he'll listen to me."

"No," said Draco. He sank to hands and knees in the snow. "I need you."

She almost asked if he was all right, but of course he wasn't. She stood weeping, waiting for him to tell her what to do.

After perhaps thirty seconds he said, "I think I'll keep my lunch down, at any rate. That's a mercy. Help me up."

She pulled him to his feet. The fingers of his right hand were much colder than his left. His arm was clearly far from healed. He stood unsteadily, pale, sweating, and shivering. Hermione glanced at the castle. It seemed a long way off.

She took out her handkerchief and wiped her tears. There were so many things she needed to say! But not now. He could barely stand. He had no emotional reserves.

He glanced at her and said, "I want to try something."

"All right."

"I'll put my summer training to use. You won't like it."

"What should I do?"

"Just focus on getting us back."

He closed his eyes. After a few seconds his color improved a little, then his posture. Once again he seemed to swell. His shivering stopped. His eyes became cold and his face seemed almost cruel, the very picture of a Prince of Slytherin, heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy.

"Come on," he said, and began walking. Not quickly, but his step was firm.

"What just happened?" she asked.

"Later."

She walked by his side. They made it two-thirds of the way to the castle before his steps began to falter. Face set, he grimly put one foot after the other. She suggested she take his good arm, but he shook his head. They might be seen.

Somehow they made it. Once they were in the warmth of the entrance hall, she asked, "Should we rest here?"

_"I_ should rest here. Go away, Granger." He saw her expression and added with an effort, "I'll see you after dinner." He lowered himself onto a nearby bench.

Hermione walked sadly to Gryffindor tower.

Buckbeak was doomed.

* * *

When Draco met Hermione in her study room, he always took her in his arms and kissed her. No matter how much was on his mind, he took the time to really notice her. Tonight, though, he slumped into her love seat without even glancing at her, leaving her standing with her arms outstretched.

"Malfoy?" she asked in a small voice. "Are you angry with me?"

He shook his head. "Not you. Never you." He finally looked at her and patted the seat next to him. She sat and he put his arms around her gingerly.

She said, "I don't know what to do."

"Just be here with me. I can't talk about it yet."

She sat quietly in his arms. As always, he began to relax as soon as they touched, but so slowly! She said, "I love you more than ever, Draco Malfoy."

"You always had revolting taste, Hermione Granger."

"Can I praise you, or would that be talking about it?"

"Maybe I can withstand a little praise for one or two unrelated things."

"I visited Moaning Myrtle last week. Her bathroom is beautiful; all gleaming and spotless. She said you paid for it."

"Just half of it. Dumbledore paid the other half. Out of his own pocket, I think. For some reason the Governors weren't very keen."

"Very mysterious."

"Aren't you supposed to be insane with jealousy?"

"I've decided to limit my jealousy to girls with a pulse. There are only twenty-nine hours in a day, you know! I have to pick and choose."

"Fair enough."

"And you'd laugh at me if I were jealous of Myrtle."

"Maybe a little."

* * *

Saturday was the Slytherin-Ravenclaw game. It was bitterly cold, with a brisk, biting wind and a high overcast. Hermione sat next to Ginny and the twins, since Ron and Harry were still snubbing her. It was comforting that all three took Hermione's side regarding the Firebolt, though the twins were teammates of Harry's and Ginny was in love with him. They took her side with Scabbers, as well, though they'd known the rat all their lives. They were such wonderful friends!

Because of the weather, they'd dressed warmly and brought blankets, too. Even so, they were cold. Hermione was worried about Draco's arm.

Everyone cheered when the Ravenclaw team appeared on the field.

"That Cho Chang is a real looker," said Fred.

"She's nice, too," said Ginny. "I hate her."

"You deserve a clear field," said George. "We don't want Harry getting all confused. Let's palm her off on someone else. Who do you think, Fred?"

"Diggory. Obviously. Unless _you_ want her, George."

"No, thanks. Hooking her up with another Seeker is a good idea. How about Malfoy?"

"I don't hate her _that_ much," said Ginny.

* * *

Draco strode onto the field with the rest of the Slytherin team. They were greeted with general boos, except from the Slytherin section, of course. Draco smiled and waved as if everyone were cheering him until Marcus Flint told him to stop.

Then the game began. Flint had changed their lineup quite a bit, favoring size over skill. As planned, they started fouling the Ravenclaws at once.

Deliberate fouls were traditional in Quidditch, and the Slytherins' big players and powerful Nimbus 2001 brooms were well-suited to the task. The Ravenclaw seeker, Cho Chang, was particularly at risk because she was tiny. She was careful to give the Slytherin players a wide berth.

Draco didn't commit any fouls. The cold made his right arm not only stiff, but intensely painful while also numb. Just catching the Snitch was enough for him to worry about.

Soon after the game began, a Bludger came out of nowhere and hit his right elbow. With the existing pain and numbness, Draco couldn't tell how bad the damage was, so he just hoped for the best.

Draco and Chang saw the Snitch at the same moment, fifty yards in front of them, and they raced towards it. Soon they were flying side by side, almost touching, with Draco on the left. The Snitch made a sharp left turn and Draco's right hand slipped right off the broom. He fell sideways into Chang's lap. If she'd veered right, he'd have fallen off his broom, but she steered to keep their brooms together until he regained his grip, then zoomed away. The Snitch had vanished.

The game continued. Flint's strategy was failing. He was unable to prevent Ravenclaw from scoring, and his fouls just gave them plenty of points from penalty shots. After hours of ferocious play, the score was Ravenclaw 170, Slytherin 50. A little more of this, and Slytherin would lose even if Draco caught the Snitch.

Then the Snitch appeared over the middle of the pitch. Draco and Chang started out from opposite directions, but as the Snitch zigged and zagged they soon found themselves flying side-by-side again. Chang reached for it and managed to touch it with her fingertips, but it flitted away towards Draco, who snatched it with a clumsy left-handed grab. The Slytherin stands erupted in rapturous cheers, while the other Houses groaned and fell silent.

Draco slowly circled the stands twice, his left hand aloft, and was grateful to land without falling off. This was his first victory at Quidditch, and it felt wonderful.

On the ground, a few of the Ravenclaw players walked over to congratulate the Slytherins, including Cho Chang.

She told Draco, "I saw the Bludger hit your arm. How bad is it?"

"I'm headed to the hospital wing to find out. Sorry about putting my head in your lap."

She looked at him suspiciously. He continued, "I was afraid you'd dump me."

She smiled. "I didn't know third-year boys could flirt."

"They can't. Such a waste! It's casting girls before swine."

She giggled. "Anyway, I couldn't let you fall! After what Cedric did in the Gryffindor game, we all have to live up to a higher standard, don't we?"

"Oh, I agree. I admire Diggory. Switching games in November was his idea, you know."

"Yes, he told me."

Something about the way she said this told Draco that Diggory was one lucky Hufflepuff.

"Well, see you around, Chang. I need Madam Pomfrey to count my arms for me."

"Good luck, Malfoy. Congratulations on the game."

As Draco walked to the hospital wing, he hoped he'd be the first to break the good news to Ginny. She'd been worrying that even Harry Potter couldn't ignore a pretty girl if she was also a Seeker. If so, learning that Chang was all starry-eyed for Diggory would affect Harry like a bucket of ice water.

He whistled as he walked.

* * *

_[Next: Cloak and Scabbers]_


	33. Cloak and Scabbers

**Cloak and Scabbers**

Hermione woke with a start. She looked around wildly.

"Shh," whispered Draco. "It's all right." He tightened the arm he had around her. She was sitting in the love seat in her private study room.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Eight forty-five." She must have looked blank, because he added, "You slept for half an hour."

"I'm so sorry! Why didn't you wake me sooner?" Wait, hadn't they been … Oh, _no!_ She'd fallen asleep while they were _kissing!_ He cheeks grew hot and she wanted to cry. Did Draco hate her now? He ought to—had anyone ever had a worse girlfriend? Confused and embarrassed, she tried to stand, but he pulled her back.

"None of that," he murmured, wagging a finger at her. "Everything's fine. Trust me. Especially you, my fine Hermione."

"But, Draco—"

"It was peaceful. You're adorable when you're asleep. And you can't tell me you don't need the rest."

"I—"

"So we're doing it again tomorrow night. And every night until you stop looking so tired."

"I can't ask you to do this!"

"You _didn't_ ask me to do this. I'm insisting."

"Don't I get a vote?"

"Of course you do! What do you take me for? You just have to vote my way."

She reached for a rejoinder, but finally noticed his smile, his dancing eyes, and his relaxed confidence. She sighed happily. "Maybe I'll humor you."

"That's my girl."

It was only February, but Hermione was already exhausted from her incredible workload. She'd have broken down completely if it weren't for Draco.

She'd always studied with Draco, even in their first year. It had been an education in itself. He was a quick, confident scholar with a huge capacity for work. He reveled in Hermione's intellect. And why not? He had a first-rate intellect himself, though he rarely raised his hand in class.

Some of his habits had shocked her at first. He wrote extensively in his textbooks—in ink! Hermione had been taught that scribbling in books was something only bad children did. Draco's marginal notes were a revelation in more ways than one.

Last month she had borrowed back a Muggle book she'd given him on puberty and adolescence, and his extensive notes had astonished her. Every time a statement in the book reminded him of someone, he noted this in the margin, though names were disguised with code numbers. She soon deduced that Draco himself was 3. It soon became clear that 3 loved 54. Other girls included: 9, 71, and 79. The chapter about depression featured notes about 79, who must be Myrtle, while 9 was Millie and 71 was Ginny. There were a number of notes about 71 in the chapter about love, often paired with 32: Harry Potter.

Almost as surprising was the way Draco wrote essays. He'd dash off a draft and then never give it another glance, handing it in as-is. Even the _thought_ of handing in rough drafts made Hermione queasy, but she had to admit that his essays were lively and original.

Draco had a punishing schedule: classes, Quidditch practice, private lessons with Snape, physical therapy, tutoring several other students, and, as he would put it, "what passes for a social life among third years." But he insisted on reviewing all her work, even for the classes he wasn't taking himself. Somehow he spotted most of her errors, giving her the confidence to hand in her work after she reviewed it carefully only once. Maybe twice. This saved her more time than she cared to think about. Draco's estimate was ten hours per week.

And she could discuss all her classes with him! She hadn't realized how lonely it was to take half her classes without Ron and Harry. (Not that they were speaking to her.)

That was another thing. It never occurred to Draco that he might have a falling-out with any of his Slytherin friends. And he never did. She wondered how he managed it.

The real miracle was that Draco was thriving, showing none of the hollow-eyed exhaustion of last year. So maybe it really was okay to lean on him, whether to check her homework or to take a nap.

* * *

Marcus Flint approached Draco during lunch. "You up for a prank, Malfoy?"

"Let's do it. What is it?"

"I found some ratty black cloth and thought we could crash the Quidditch game as Dementors."

"Okay. How do make ourselves nine feet tall?"

"We can try different things. Maybe stilts? Or just use a broomstick to prop up the hood. Maybe have one person stand on another's shoulders."

"It'll look stupid, Marcus."

"That's the idea. We'll get a big laugh."

* * *

Hermione worried as Valentine's Day approached. Draco had given Ginny a valentine last year, but it hadn't been a _real_ valentine; it was more of an apology for publicly mocking Ginny's singing valentine to Harry. But Draco would send Ginny another not-exactly-real valentine again this year unless stopped. Hermione wasn't jealous of Ginny at the moment and wanted it to last.

Ginny was finding Draco pig-headed and intolerable, even for him. They quarreled over his physical therapy because he couldn't resist over-exercising. Ginny had moved their physical therapy sessions from a disused classroom to the hospital wing so she and Madam Pomfrey could gang up on him.

Draco and Hermione were sitting in the window seat in the library nook when she told him, "It's almost Valentine's Day."

"So it is. I've already told Weasel Girl that it's her duty to top last year's valentine to Potter."

"Draco!"

"She punched me. Just my good shoulder, but is that a way for a sweet, innocent little girl to behave?"

"You deserved it. Are you planning anything too reprehensible?"

"I don't know. How reprehensible am I allowed to be?"

"With me, some. With anyone else, not at all."

"Millie and I have exchanged valentines since we were six, but not reprehensible ones."

"All right." Hermione had never managed any real jealousy towards Millie. Sometimes she worried that this was shallow of her, since Millie wasn't pretty.

Draco said, "That's about it, really. Except for you, of course."

"Not Ginny?"

He gave her a long look, then said, "What should I do, Hermione? Advise me."

"I'm thinking. What about Pansy?"

"She'd read too much into it."

"And Myrtle?"

He smiled and shook his head. "No."

"Draco, if you had a free hand, what would you do?"

"Just the obvious."

"Which is?"

"Forge a valentine from Potter that Weasel Girl won't believe, but validates her girlish yearnings."

"I can't decide whether that's evil or sweet."

"Something like your signed photograph of Gilderoy Lockhart. But instead of the popinjay look, maybe a picture of Potter with his shirt off ... What do you think?"

"Definitely evil. Don't you dare!"

"Spoilsport."

* * *

Hermione unlocked the door of her private study room and stepped inside, beckoning Ginny to follow. As soon as the door closed, Ginny sank down onto the love seat started crying again.

Ron was certain that Hermione's cat Crookshanks had eaten his rat Scabbers and was furious with her. Ginny was distressed at Scabbers' demise and didn't know whose side she was on. She'd alternately lashed out at Hermione and clung to her. Finally she'd demanded to talk to Draco, just as she had when Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris, had been petrified. Hermione had a bad feeling about this.

Hermione rapped on the back wall twice to tell Draco that she was here and Ginny was with her. Then, though she felt the urge to follow Ginny's example and start crying again, she started taking books out of her bag one at a time and slapping them down on her desk with unnecessary force. It helped.

The concealed door in the back wall opened and Draco stepped through. Surprised by their tear-stained faces, he stood frozen for a moment, giving Ginny an easy target as she launched herself at him. She threw her arms around him, broke into sobs, and buried her head against his shoulder.

Draco put his arms around her _far_ too tenderly and whispered, "Shh. I'm here" in a tone that Hermione thought was reserved for her alone. After what seemed like an eternity, he looked at Hermione and raised his eyebrows.

Hermione was too busy glaring at Ginny to respond at once. Had Ginny set her up? Finally, she met Draco's gaze.

Draco mouthed, "I love you," but she tossed her head and rolled her eyes. If he thought he could flirt with her while embracing another girl, he needed to think again.

Ginny's sobs were subsiding. Draco murmured, "It's all right, Weasel Girl," then said, "Hello, Granger."

Hermione glared at him. "Malfoy."

"Nice weather we're having."

He'd decided to be insufferable. Of course he had. Grimly, she said, "Considering the time of year."

"I trust your day is going well."

She stamped her foot. "You're the most obnoxious boy in the universe, Malfoy!"

He smiled and his eyes danced, delighted with her for some reason. In his best offensive drawl, he said, "Never mind my _fascinating_ personality, Granger. There's a girl crying in my arms. Why? A fellow likes to know these things."

Why, indeed? Hermione didn't know where to begin, and it was hard to think when another girl was embracing _her_ boyfriend!

Ginny, distracted, let go and turned around to look at Hermione. Draco handed Ginny his spare handkerchief, then put his hand on her shoulder.

Hermione glared at the hand. What on _earth_ did Draco think he was doing? Ginny blushed. Draco waited.

Hermione deflated and asked, "What's happening?"

Draco said quietly, "I think you're expecting me to push a friend away."

"Frenemy," corrected Ginny. She took his hand off her shoulder and said, "Thanks, Snako." She sat on the love seat and smiled uncertainly at Hermione. "He's all yours."

Hermione hesitated, then, lacking a better idea, sighed and stepped forward. She put an arm around Draco's waist. He put an arm around hers. She told Ginny, "I'm confused."

Ginny said, "I don't think Snako's going to take sides about Scabbers."

"Wait, what happened to Scabbers?" asked Draco.

"Crookshanks ate him," said Ginny.

"I don't think he did!" said Hermione.

Draco considered the two girls in turn, then said to the room in general, "My dear Watson, describe what you observed, omitting no detail, however small."

Hermione said, "Ron came down to the common room with his bed sheet. It had a blood stain on it."

"What else?"

"That's all."

"No body parts scattered about?"

"Snako!" said Ginny, looking ready to cry again.

Hermione tightened her grip on Draco and said, "No, just a blood stain."

Draco considered this. "Crookshanks is big, but he couldn't swallow a rat whole. He's not a python. There'd be bits left over."

Relieved, Hermione asked, "Do you really think so?"

"Well, probably. Feed him his usual meal at the usual time and see if there's a rat-sized hole in his appetite. And search the area."

"What about the bloodstained sheet?"

"You heroic Gryffindors are always bleeding on _something_."

"That's weak, Snako, really weak," said Ginny.

Draco said, "It's the evidence that's weak. If it had been a girl's dorm, we wouldn't even be having this conversation."

Ginny turned bright red. "Snako!"

"How's Weasley #6 taking it?"

Hermione said, "He's furious with me. He's threatening Crookshanks. Harry forgave me for the broom earlier but now he's taking Ron's side."

Draco said, "Ah, the mysterious broom."

"Don't ask," said Ginny.

Draco paused to think, his gaze losing focus. When he came back to the present, he said, "I'm demoting Weasley #6 from older brother to younger brother, Weasel Girl."

"Good call," said Ginny.

"This is bad. You-Know-Who is gunning for Potter. He has a hundred Dementors champing at the bit, and maybe Sirius Black, too. Your little brother doesn't have a clue, no one listens to you, and he and Potter shoved Hermione away when they should be begging her to share her wisdom."

"What can we do?" asked Hermione.

Draco gave it some thought, then shrugged. "No idea. Not yet."

"Speaking of shoving away," said Ginny.

Draco said, "Oh, that. You already figured it out. I don't shove friends away, ever." He held Hermione closer. "And if they feud with each other, I support both. Lifelong loyalty. It's a Malfoy thing."

Hermione sighed. Would Draco's lifelong loyalty be her lifelong jealousy? "I don't know."

"I do," said Ginny. "We _can't _be like Ron, can we, Hermione? Ron was so mean to you! And to Crookshanks. And to Harry, too. Harry's _desperate_ to be your friend again, but Ron won't let him. So I solemnly swear that you and Crookshanks and Snako and Harry and even my _git_ little brother Ron are my friends forever, no matter what."

"Frenemy," said Draco.

"Whatever." To Hermione she said, "Even if you _have_ hugged Harry more than I have, which is just _disgusting."_

Hermione desperately wanted to reply to this, since Ginny had hugged Draco _far_ more than was right, but Draco brushed her cheek with his right hand. He meant it to be soothing, but his fingers were so cold! Poor Draco. He worked so hard, and so many things went wrong for him.

Distracted, she asked Draco, "Lifelong friends. What about enemies?"

"That's different. My aristocratic glamour will irresistibly turn all my enemies into friends. Obviously."

"Including Hagrid?"

He scowled. "That stupid oaf is _sacrificing_ Buckbeak just to avoid seeing who I really am. It makes me so _angry!"_ His whole body stiffened and his face reddened. But he mastered himself and continued, "But he's your friend, so he's off-limits. Except verbally."

"Is Harry off-limits, too?"

He was surprised. "Of course he is. Especially him. Even if he weren't your friend or Weasel Girl's, to tell you the truth. You-Know-Who wants him, so he can't have him. But he's fair game for schoolboy rivalries and Quidditch."

Suddenly near tears, Hermione almost wailed, "What if Crookshanks _did_ eat Scabbers?"

Draco said, "You'll just have to forgive." He looked into the distance for a moment, then nodded to himself and said, "Forgive Crookshanks for being a cat, Scabbers for being a rat, Ronald for being a prat, Ginny for being a brat, and yourself for being … something that rhymes with the other four. I can't think of _everything."_

Hermione smiled at this and was delighted that he'd called Ginny a brat, though maybe he'd said it just for the rhyme. Ginny seemed neither surprised nor displeased by the label, though. "What do I do about Harry and Ron?"

"You tell her, Weasel Girl."

Ginny told Hermione, "You love Harry and Ron. They'll always be your friends. But they're just boys, so they're easily distracted _pillocks_ who run away screaming from their own hearts."

"Cruel but accurate," said Draco.

"So what's different about Draco?" asked Hermione.

"He runs towards his heart," said Ginny.

Hermione's eye filled with tears. "That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard."

"Screaming," added Ginny.

* * *

Saturday morning, Harry brought his Firebolt down to breakfast. Everyone crowded around it, including students from the other three houses. Hermione watched.

Eventually Draco made his way to the Gryffindor table. His eyebrows shot up as he saw the Firebolt. He asked Harry, "Sure you can manage that broom, Potter?"

"Yeah, Reckon so," said Harry.

"It has plenty of special features, hasn't it? A s_hame_ it doesn't come with a parachute, in case you get too near a Dementor."

Harry said, "Pity you can't attach an extra arm to yours, Malfoy. Then it could catch the Snitch for you."

Draco's eyes narrowed, but he turned away without replying.

Hermione was crestfallen. Harry had done really well with his reply! He usually just threatened Draco. He'd outdone himself, but Draco hadn't been prepared for it. Not when Harry mocked his arm. Too bad.

Hermione was convinced that as soon as Harry and Draco managed two or three rounds of verbal sparring, their rivalry would change for the better.

* * *

"Let's go," said Flint. Draco could hear the other boys laughing in anticipation.

Draco was on top of Goyle's shoulders, surrounded by a voluminous hooded robe. This let Draco swing the arms. They might actually scare people for a few seconds! That would get a bigger laugh when everyone figured it out.

Goyle walked cautiously forward. Two other fake Dementors accompanied them. Flint was in one robe and Crabbe was in the other. They were holding up broomsticks to keep the hoods at the right height, letting the sleeves of their robes hang limply and peering through holes in the chests of the costumes.

A few screams revealed that they'd been seen, then Draco was distracted by a glint over the field. The Golden Snitch!

Suddenly he was blinded by a brilliant flash of white light. It was so unexpected that he lost his balance, and he and Goyle toppled over. Draco tried to take the landing on his shoulder, but his right elbow took some of his weight and he felt a familiar pain. Not again!

He heard Lee Jordan announce that Potter had caught the Snitch and Gryffindor had won the game. Too bad. He'd have enjoyed congratulating Cho Chang, especially if Potter was watching.

Before he could see again or get loose from the robe, he heard McGonagall's voice nearby, shouting, "An unworthy trick! A low and cowardly attempt to sabotage the Gryffindor Seeker! Detention for all of you, and fifty points from Slytherin! I shall be speaking to Professor Dumbledore about this, and no mistake! Ah, here he comes now!"

That last was good news. McGonagall would have to stop foaming at the mouth in Dumbledore's presence. She sounded like she'd lost her last marble.

Draco tried to extricate himself from the robe one-handed, his eyes still dazzled, but to no avail.

McGonagall demanded, "What do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Malfoy?"

Flint sounded hurt as he broke in. "It was my idea from start to finish, Professor. I don't see why you're blaming Draco."

Dumbledore's voice asked calmly, "Are you all right, Draco?"

"I can't see and I can't use my right arm, sir."

"What?" said McGonagall.

"Ah," said Dumbledore. "Let me do something about that."

Draco shuddered, thinking about what Lockhart had done to Harry's arm last year, but he trusted Dumbledore and made no objection. A moment later his vision cleared.

Flint extricated Draco from the robe and helped him to his feet. Draco asked him, "Everyone else okay?"

"Yeah," said Flint.

Draco turned his attention to Dumbledore. "Thank you."

Dumbledore asked, "Can your arm wait until you reach the hospital wing? Madam Pomfrey is more familiar with it than I am."

Draco looked around. The stadium was emptying quickly. In particular, the Gryffindor team had already gone. He didn't want them to know how bad his arm was. He said, "No vertigo or nausea yet, so probably." He undid a button on his shirt and stuffed his right hand into the gap, Napoleon-style.

He met Dumbledore's gaze and said, "I was _told_ the Patronus Charm is harmless."

Dumbledore chuckled. "They can be dazzling, can't they? Now, if you don't mind, Draco, please tell Professor McGonagall what you _expected_ to happen."

"Some students start laughing right away. The dumber ones are frightened but soon catch on and laugh, too. A good time is had by all."

Dumbledore asked, "You didn't expect a Patronus?"

"We figured that anyone who can cast a Patronus—which is _completely harmless,_ by the way—would see right through us. Were we were wrong or did someone blind me just for fun?"

Dumbledore ignored the question and asked, "And what about Harry Potter?"

"What about him?"

Patiently, Dumbledore said, "How did you expect this to affect Harry Potter?"

"We didn't expect any thank-you notes, if that's what you mean."

"You didn't try to interfere with him catching the Snitch?"

"If we could predict the Snitch well enough to do that, would we be _here?_ We'd be playing professionally!"

"Or fall off his broom?"

"We're just students, Professor. It took _a hundred Dementors_ to make Potter fall off his broom. You should be looking for whoever sent them to kill him."

McGonagall was shocked. "Mr. Malfoy!"

"Well," said Draco irritably, "why _else_ are they here? We know they can't find Sirius Black. That's how he escaped from Azkaban! It's _obvious_ the Dementors are only here to murder Potter."

McGonagall seemed to have lost the power of speech. Dumbledore was as serene as ever. He said, "Anything else, Draco?"

"The _last_ time Professor McGonagall gave me a detention, I practically tripped over You-Know-Who's midnight supper of unicorn blood. Professor Dumbledore, if it doesn't violate _too_ many school rules, please don't make my friends stay up past their bedtimes, let alone participate in dark rituals or animal sacrifice."

McGonagall said, "Professor Dumbledore! He _cannot_ talk to you like that!"

Dumbledore said, "Oh, but he can, Minerva. He must. This is how Draco shows respect."

"If he ever spoke to me like that …"

"Alas, he would not."

Draco said, "Please don't tease Professor McGonagall for me."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Quite right. I do apologize. And your conditions are very sensible. I agree. Let me walk you to the hospital wing, Draco."

Once they'd left McGonagall and the others behind, Dumbledore said, "I'm intrigued by your theory. What else can you tell me?"

Pain made Draco grumpy. "It's just a hallucination. I must have hit my head. And you didn't hear any of it from me."

"I quite understand."

"Cornelius Fudge has to be involved."

"Cornelius has no history of such madness."

"Neither did Ginny Weasley."

Dumbledore fell silent. Eventually he said, "That is a truly appalling thought."

They had reached the hospital wing. Draco stopped outside the closed doors and said, "Professor?"

"Yes, Draco?"

"If you find a way to release Minister Fudge … I … I know of another victim." The name of Lucius Malfoy stood unspoken between them.

"I know exactly what you mean, Draco. I give you my word that I will do all I can."

Relieved, Draco entered the hospital wing and learned that his elbow had been dislocated again.

* * *

That night, Hermione was awakened by the news that Ron had nearly been attacked by Sirius Black. Sir Cadogan, whose portrait guarded the entrance to Gryffindor tower, confirmed that a man had recently entered Gryffindor tower.

Ron's story was that he woke up and saw Black looming over him, filthy and emaciated, a long knife in his hand. He'd fled when Ron yelled.

It turned out that Neville had written down all the passwords for the week and then misplaced his list. Black had read them off one at a time until Sir Cadogan had let him in.

No one got any more sleep that night. No one except Hermione, that is. Her monumental sleep deprivation came in handy for once.

The next day was Sunday, and after breakfast (a meal sparsely attended by the Gryffindors, who had mostly fallen asleep at dawn) Hermione met Draco in the library and told him all the details.

"I don't like it," he said. "Too weird. Too feeble. _And _it's an inside job."

"What makes you think so?"

"It's hard to get into Hogwarts, but our knife-wielding friend never has any trouble. Therefore, he was here all along. Plus, he found Longbottom's list, which is just too much to hope for if you're a random trespasser. Did Longbottom put his name or 'Passwords for Gryffindor Tower' on his list?"

"No, he didn't."

"I'd say it's just a meaningless diversion, but slicing up the Fat Lady was the act of a homicidal maniac. The next diversion might kill someone. You, for instance." He sighed. "I'm feeling a little helpless right now, Hermione."

"We all are, Draco."

"Let's see if we can't solve the mystery. We shouldn't let little things like not having any useful clues bother us. After all, we solved it last year."

She smiled, "So we did."

* * *

_[Next: Potter's Disembodied Head]_

_Thanks for reading! Please favorite and review!_


	34. Potter's Disembodied Head

**Potter's Disembodied Head**

Neville Longbottom sat at a table in a deserted corner of the library, reading his Potions textbook. He felt he'd do all right in Potions and even enjoy it if his teacher were anyone but Snape.

Someone sat at the other side of the table. He looked up. To his surprise, it was Draco Malfoy.

"Mind if I join you?" murmured Draco.

"You already have," said Neville. He was pleased but anxious. Draco had stopped being cruel to him after their detention in the Forbidden Forest, and he admired Draco for his ability to shrug off humiliations and remain as cool and popular as ever, like the time he swaggered into Potions with his arm in a sling and used his wound to _prank_ Harry and Ron. Neville couldn't imagine doing anything like that. Still, Neville never knew which way Draco would jump.

"Bad luck about the password list," said Draco. "It's 'excelsior' through Friday, by the way."

"I know. People have to say it to let me in, and the Fat Lady's a little deaf. But I'll get in trouble if I use it myself. How did you learn it?"

"Gryffindors still don't know how to keep their voices down when they ask each other the password. The whole system is a joke."

"The trolls are no joke."

"What? They don't fill you with a deliciously safe feeling?"

"No," said Neville bitterly, "they don't."

"Me, either. Are we the only ones who remember the troll that almost flattened Granger two years ago? But other than that, how are things?"

"Bloody awful, Malfoy. You have no idea."

"I blame McGonagall. It's _her_ password system and she won't fix it. Your friends haven't been pillars of strength, either."

"What friends?"

"Exactly. Imbeciles. Ingrates. I saw you in the Forbidden Forest, Longbottom. You did as well as I did, except for losing your sense of direction, which doesn't count. Not in the dark. And the way you yelled at Hagrid! That was _splendid, _it really was."

"Why are you being nice to me?"

"The Forbidden Forest made us comrades."

Neville shook his head, "You were braver than me."

"You're a first-rate idiot, Longbottom. Oh, by the way, unless you want to parade me around as your new friend, we should sprinkle our conversations with insults. Your turn."

Neville couldn't resist airing a serious grievance. "You treat Hermione like dirt. It's not right!"

"Well done. Though you'd get extra snark points if you said I treated her like mud."

"I can't do snark."

"It _is_ a bit off-brand for you. As to who was bravest, you _insisted_ on taking the lead. Moronic, yes, but braver than yours truly."

Neville was flattered. "Do you really mean that?"

"Not the 'moronic' part. And you're still a demon for losing handkerchiefs and lists. But I like the way you treated Fang last year."

"He's a great dog."

"He is. I ran into him a while ago and he remembered me. Knocked me down and wanted to play. Cheered me right up. He'll remember you, too, if you manage to cross paths."

"Aren't you trying to get Hagrid sacked?"

"You're my comrade, so I'll tell you a secret._ Father_ tried to get Hagrid sacked. _Father_ wants Buckbeak killed. Publicly I have to support him one hundred percent in everything. You wouldn't _believe_ how little choice I have. Privately I tried to talk him out of it. I've outright _lied_ to him about my arm since the holidays. But Hagrid doesn't care. Hagrid doesn't believe Draco Malfoy exists. The stupid oaf thinks I'm my father, or maybe my grandfather."

Neville was appalled, impressed, and most of all embarrassed that he hadn't figured out more of this already. Some of the things Hagrid said behind Draco's back were almost unhinged. "I noticed your blue fingers in Care of Magical Creatures. Nobody thinks I'm my grandmother, but they're all disappointed that I don't act like the heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Longbottom, and they don't mind saying so."

"I know that one, too."

"But you act your part perfectly!"

"Thanks, but my parents don't agree. Howlers are too public, so they send private letters that tear me to pieces."

"That's awful, Malfoy. Why are you telling me this?"

"Insult me again, you disgusting Gryffindor."

Neville was enjoying this opportunity to get things off his chest. "You're an idiot for mocking Professor Lupin's clothes."

"What can I do? I tried complaining to his tailor, but he's been dead for fifty years. By the way, I want something from you."

"I knew it."

"You've noticed the Dementors are interested in Harry Potter. They showed it on the train and at the Quidditch game. Dementors aren't Potter fans like Creevey, so they must want to kill him. Are you with me so far?"

Neville was horrified. "Go on."

"Potter's _my_ rival. No one beats up my rival but me. In spite of his deficiencies, he's my private property. There's another Hogsmeade day coming up. I think Potter might try to sneak off. There's nothing to stop him if he's willing to risk a detention. All he has to do is walk down the road after everyone else has gone."

Draco sighed and continued, "Normally I'd say he's safe because Granger does his thinking for him. Say what you like about Granger—and you should; it's fun—but she's sensible. But they had a tiff and now _Weasley's_ doing Potter's thinking for him. Weasley's a moron. Those two need a keeper. Still with me?"

Neville was even more horrified. "Yes."

"You'll be here that day, so _your_ job is to stick to Potter like a second skin until it's too late for him to make a break for it."

"Should I tell him about the Dementors?"

"If you think he'll listen."

Neville muttered, "He thinks I'm an idiot."

The two boys considered this glumly for a while, then Draco stood. "It's been good talking to you, Longbottom. By the way, you're on my list of people I'm allowed to befriend, heir to the House of Longbottom and all that, so I won't give the you cold shoulder if you approach me openly."

"Thanks, Malfoy. I'll think about what you said."

"Good man." Draco slapped him lightly on the back and departed.

Neville, not having been born yesterday, checked his back to see if Draco had affixed a "Kick Me" sign, but no, the gesture had been innocent.

His mood was much improved. He turned to his Potions homework and made good progress.

* * *

Hermione found her routine with Draco soothing. This was just as well, since she was troubled. After studying together for an hour and independently for an hour, they sat on the love seat and talked idly about this and that, and she drifted off to sleep as she almost always did. In spite of her best efforts, her anxiety about her schoolwork interfered with her sleep, but she felt so safe in Draco's arms …

When she woke from her nap, she decided it was time to raise the topics she'd been avoiding. She glanced at him. He was in a good mood, waiting for her to begin, smiling slightly. "Draco?" Her voice was small and tentative.

"Hmm?"

"Buckbeak's hearing is on Friday."

He murmured, almost in her ear, "I know. I tried my latest idea on Father, but it was no go."

"What was it?"

"If Buckbeak dies, then Harry Potter was the only boy who could fly the most dangerous hippogriff in the world. Father's complaint just enhances Potter's reputation. If Buckbeak lives, then Harry Potter just flew a random hippogriff."

"That's brilliant!"

"It is, isn't it? Maybe if I'd thought of it sooner…"

"What's going to happen?"

"Buckbeak's doomed."

"There's an appeal, isn't there? They won't kill him on the spot?"

"That's right. Usually a month or two down the road. It's to let people simmer down, though new arguments can be made, too."

They sat in silence for a while. Hermione was impressed that they'd managed an entire discussion about Buckbeak without referring to Hagrid at all. His name had a bad effect on Draco. Then her mind turned to Saturday and her conviction that Harry would use his invisibility cloak and the secret tunnel to visit Hogsmeade.

Draco sensed her anxiety and said, "Tell me."

Hermione sighed. "I'm not sure I can."

"If it's nothing to do with safety, never mind."

"It is, though. All right. I'm afraid Harry will sneak off to Hogsmeade."

"Great minds think alike. But I'm hurt! You haven't insulted me once."

"Draco, you're smug and condescending and I hate your toothpaste."

Draco blinked, then said, "Ah. Then I challenge you to buy the winning brand at Hogsmeade. I'll do the same. We'll test our entries scientifically and see who has the better taste."

"Or who tastes better."

"Exactly. And _my_ insult is that you're perfect, and that makes everyone feel bad, which is selfish and wrong. You should be ashamed. And I'm afraid to kiss you."

"I exaggerated about the toothpaste," she said. She demonstrated enough to convince a far more skeptical boy than Draco.

Eventually she said, "Great minds think alike?"

"Oh, right. I told Longbottom my Dementor theory and asked him to stick to Potter like a leech on Saturday. Or was it a tick?"

"That was inspired!"

"He's the man on the spot. I could have asked a first- or second-year to do it, but the only ones who'd listen are Weasel Girl and maybe Creevey, and I figured Longbottom was the better bet."

* * *

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle headed for the Shrieking Shack. As they climbed the hill, Crabbe asked about Buckbeak's hearing.

In spite of the beautiful spring day, Draco was in a foul mood. He was glad to take it out on Hagrid rather than Crabbe, who was getting on his nerves. He said, "I should have an owl from Father any time now. He had to go to the hearing to tell them about my arm; about how I couldn't use it for three months."

Crabbe and Goyle made appreciative noises. Draco continued, "I really wish I could hear that great hairy moron trying to defend himself. 'There's no 'arm in him, honest.' That hippogriff is as good as dead."

Draco spotted Ron Weasley ahead of him, standing by himself at the fence of the Shrieking Shack. Wait, was Ron Weasley _ever_ alone? "What are you doing, _Weasley?"_

Ron didn't answer. Draco, who enjoyed mocking Ron far more than he admitted to Hermione, looked past him to the Shrieking Shack and said, "I suppose you'd _love_ to live here, wouldn't you, Weasley? Dreaming about having your own bedroom? I heard your family all sleep in one room. Is that true?"

Ron turned red and bunched his fists, looking like he'd attack all three of them if Draco gave him another push.

Draco continued, "We were just discussing your friend Hagrid. Just trying to _imagine_ what he's saying to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. Do you think he'll _cry_ when they cut off his hippogriff's—"

Suddenly something cold and sticky hit Draco in the back of the head. "What the—"

Ron began to laugh, and even pretended to laugh so hard he had to hang onto the Shrieking Shack's fence to keep from falling, not realizing it made him look like a drunken orangutan in a tree.

Draco spun around to look for Ron's accomplice. "What was that? Who did that?"

Ron said something about the area being haunted. Draco ignored him, and was rewarded by seeing a handful of mud pick itself up out of a puddle and throw itself at them. Some hit Draco in the face.

"It came from over there," he shouted, pointing to the puddle. Crabbe moved towards the spot, holding his hands out in front of him like a zombie. Good. He'd realized that some kind of invisibility was in play.

Draco saw a stick pick itself up off the ground and throw itself at Crabbe's back. Harry Potter, presumably. A moment later this was confirmed when Harry's face appeared. It floated, disembodied, at head height.

Draco was furious—what kind of _moron_ reveals that he owns an _invisibility cloak_ just to throw a little mud? Or is careless enough to let the hood fall back?

He decided that play time was over. Time to call for reinforcements. Just one problem—Crabbe and Goyle would catch Harry in a moment and beat him up, and Weasley too. Hermione would have Draco's head on a pike if this happened.

Inspired by the look of fear on Goyle's face, Draco pointed at Harry's disembodied head and screamed, "Aaaaa!" Then he turned and pelted down the trail. Goyle screamed in genuine terror and ran after him. Crabbe, less convinced, followed anyway.

Draco ran all the way to Hogwarts, leaving Crabbe and Goyle panting in his wake. He found Snape in his office. "I saw Potter at Hogsmeade," he gasped, "at the Shrieking Shack. He has an invisibility cloak. His head was uncovered for a while."

Snape scowled and spent a while in a silent internal struggle—trying not to swear, Draco guessed. "Thank you Mr. Malfoy," he said. "Can you tell me anything else?"

"Not really. I ran all the way, but he's in training and could be right behind me. But I'll bet he's still in Hogsmeade."

"Head to your dormitory and clean up," said Snape. "I'll take it from here. I know which route he took. What happened to you?"

"He threw mud at us."

Snape closed his eyes as if in pain. After several seconds he opened them. "Of course he did."

"That idiot Weasley was with him."

Snape nodded. "Go."

Draco went.

* * *

Hermione felt drained and confused when she stepped into her study room. Ron and Harry had reported with indignation that Draco had taunted Ron at the Shrieking Shack. Harry couldn't resist joining in, revealing himself. The two were gleeful that Draco had run away, but were angry that Draco had tattled to Snape. They'd convinced themselves that no one had figured out about the invisibility cloak.

Snape had ranted and raved at Harry and confiscated his Marauder's Map, then Lupin had gently criticized his irresponsibility and left him deeply ashamed.

On top of this bad news, she'd received an owl from Hagrid: he'd lost his case and Buckbeak had been sentenced to death. Though she'd expected it, she was heartbroken. Ron said that Draco had _laughed_ with Crabbe and Goyle about Buckbeak's fate. How could he?

On the other hand, she'd made up with Harry and Ron. She loved them so much! It had been agony to be shunned by them. So she was relieved and joyful in addition to everything else, though she was sure Draco would have something nasty to say about it.

She was didn't know what to think. It was all too much. She was angry with everyone: with Snape, Hagrid, all three boys—five, if you counted Crabbe and Goyle—and herself. She was also sad for Buckbeak, Hagrid, Harry, Ron—and herself. And for Draco, too, because she had a sick premonition that her anger and confusion and partisanship with Ron and Harry would make her treat him cruelly again. He took it so hard! For the first time in ages she wanted to avoid him.

There was a note on her desk.

* * *

Hermione,

I've received a note from Father. Buckbeak lost. I'm so sorry.

I have other news, but I don't want to burden you with it until you ask.

Love,

Draco

P.S. I'm here if you want to see me. If not, I understand.

* * *

Hermione read it through twice. Draco hadn't meant it to be, but his note was in code. Did he really think she wanted some time alone, or had he plunged into depression again, unable to believe that she wanted to see him, now or ever?

Well, once posed, the question answered itself. And if she avoided him, she thought bitterly, he'd pour out his heart to Ginny and even Myrtle, wouldn't he? He could talk about true love until he was blue in the face, but right now it didn't feel like a fairy-tale romance.

She hoped that the thought of Draco's misery was the deciding factor, not the idea of having to face Ginny's wide-eyed concern or Myrtle's gloating half-sympathy. She wasn't certain, though. It was so aggravating! She thumped the back wall with unnecessary force to let him know he could come through.

After a long pause, he entered through the concealed door. His pose was casual but his eyes were anxious. "Hello, Granger. Did you get the number?"

"Number?"

"Of the lorry that hit you."

"It wasn't a lorry, it was your _father._ And Snape. And you."

His flinch was almost imperceptible. She realized that she was still seated at her desk. Why? She always stood and embraced him right away.

Draco noticed, too. "On your feet, Granger."

She stood slowly and faced him … sullenly? No, surely not!

Draco said, "Good girl. Now tell me that you're really upset with me."

"I'm _really_ upset with you, Malfoy!"

"And I make things so hard."

"You do! You make things so hard!"

"At times like this, you wonder why you bother."

"I …" She stopped, bewildered, then shook her head.

He smirked. "You'd be better off with Colin Creevey as your boyfriend."

"Honestly! Now you're just being ridiculous. My turn. You're the most obnoxious boy on the planet."

"I … wait, even more than Weasley #6?"

"Yes."

"I'm proud to be the most obnoxious boy on the planet. But you're playing a different game."

"What do you mean?"

"I was suggesting complaints _you_ wanted to say to me. You're having me repeat more of your complaints, not my own."

"Oh." She tried to think of a complaint he surely must have about her, but … Finally she admitted, "My mind went blank."

"That's about right. Mine does, too. I don't have any complaints, Granger. Not about you."

"That_ can't_ be true."

"It can be sort of true."

The thought left her uneasy, so she tossed her head and said, "I don't care. You have to insult me anyway."

He looked her up and down, smirking, just to irritate her, then said, "You're a naïve child who took the wrong classes this year."

"What? You waited until _April_ to tell me that?"

"You were too proud and stiff-necked to listen until now."

_"I'm_ proud and stiff-necked? You're insufferable! And I'm still mad at you!"

His confidence had returned. He always seemed to know when the tide was about to turn. He tilted his head and asked with palpably false curiosity, "Mad? About what? Name my worst crime first. I can't be bothered with trifles."

"You … wait, did you say mean things about Buckbeak at the Shrieking Shack just to annoy Ron?"

"No, that was a free bonus. Crabbe and I were talking about it before we saw him."

She sighed. Draco felt compelled to be the dumbest, cruelest version of himself to his minions. It was maddening, but it wasn't out of bounds. And she only had Ron and Harry's version to go on, and their exaggerations and inaccuracies had led to embarrassing scenes with Draco in the past; scenes where she had wounded him over nothing. She wavered. Then, because she knew Draco would seize the initiative if she didn't, she stepped forward and put her arms around him. He put one arm around her and stroked her hair with the other.

After a moment she realized she was holding him too tightly and relaxed her grip. "How much better could it have gone?"

He started idly winding her hair around his fingers. "A surprise meeting like that? I was lucky to draw Crabbe and Goyle off before they beat Potter to a pulp and took his invisibility cloak away."

"So you know about that."

"We all saw Potter's disembodied head. It had to be a cloak; nothing else works like that. I told my noble retainers that Snape wants it kept quiet."

"Does Snape know, too?"

"Yes. I needed Snape to find Potter before the Dementors did, so I had to tell him. I really did."

She was afraid for Harry's safety, too. So was everyone—except Ron. Draco had done what he had to.

Reassured, she tilted her face up and he kissed her. She put her cheek against his shoulder and said, "It's hard not to doubt you, Draco."

"I know."

"Can you make it easier for me? Please?"

"Tell me how, my clever Hermione."

"We're all really upset about Buckbeak. Can you stop talking about him to Crabbe and Goyle? I mean, when one of us might hear?"

"Yes, I promise. No Buckbeak-bashing where a visible Gryffindor can hear."

"I'll never hear the end of this cloak business."

"Actually, I don't intend to mention it ever again. That's the way to keep secrets."

"I like it when you mention _some_ secrets."

"I secretly love you with all my heart," he said, kissing her again. "And I secretly know you're a really good kisser."

The need to prove him right distracted her for a while, but she finally said, "Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm friends with Ron and Harry again."

Draco went very still.

"Draco?"

"You know, Hermione, I might be the _teensiest_ bit jealous."

"You've admitted this before."

"I know." He sighed. "I hoped I was over it. They get to be friends with you _openly._ They need you but they don't take care of you. And Potter's destiny is tangled with You-Know-Who's destruction, so you'll follow him into the darkness every single time, and he takes it for _granted._ It's infuriating! It would be so _easy_ for me to hate him. Father's ordered me to and everything."

_"Do_ you hate him?"

"I can't. Guess what happens if I start thinking in that direction."

"I give up."

"In my mind's eye, I see Weasel Girl scowling at me and telling me to not be a stupid _boy."_

"Seriously, Draco, what _is_ it between you and Ginny?"

To her surprise, he answered at once, his voice becoming grave but gentle. "Dark experiences, mostly. Very dark experiences. Father and Tom Riddle made her life a living hell. Far more than she lets on."

"I thought she didn't remember."

"Well, she didn't. She couldn't have led a double life otherwise. But the amnesia started fading when the diary was destroyed. Everyone wanted to believe she was unaffected, so she didn't tell anyone. Except me."

"That's horrible."

"It's horrible beyond words. What she knows and I know is that Ginny Weasley wasn't asleep when she did those terrible things. She was right there _doing_ them. Sometimes in a daze, sometimes with horror, but most often with a workmanlike pride in a job well done."

Hermione tried to make sense of this. She was confused on multiple levels. She heard herself demanding, "And, knowing all this, you _kissed_ her?"

He surprised her by chuckling. "Now you see why she was so impressed!"

Hermione was appalled. She whispered, "When I was petrified…?"

"She wasn't far away. She's surprised you didn't see her. She watched the whole thing and wanted to die every second. She loves you; you're her best friend. She tried and tried, but she couldn't stop. She was certain the basilisk would kill you. So to her, the hand mirror was a miracle, a deliverance."

She could see it all in her mind's eye. Poor Ginny! Hermione believed every word of Draco's story.

But he didn't know this. He continued, as earnest as she'd ever heard him, "You have to believe me, Hermione. She asked me to tell you, and I can't screw this up. You need to understand. She walked in darkness, yes, she really did, but it wasn't _her_ darkness. She didn't bring any of it home with her. She isn't tainted. She's the girl you always knew she was. She _deserves_ your trust—and she deserves Potter's heart. Everything. She deserves him far more than I deserve you."

She bristled. "You deserve me if I _say_ you deserve me, Draco Malfoy."

He smirked at her. "Well?"

She decided to make him pay a little by not answering right away. "What about your own dark experiences?"

"With her, Father was in the background and Riddle was in the foreground. It's the other way around with me. And unlike her, I haven't been forced to attempt any murders. Not yet."

That was the problem with asking Draco questions, she thought glumly. He _answered_ them. She told him sternly, "You deserve me, Draco Malfoy. Don't you _dare_ think otherwise, because nobody disrespects my boyfriend, not even you."

"Except you."

"I treat you roughly out of respect. Malfoys are strong. Everyone knows that."

"We have to be! Look who we fall for."

"Compliment accepted."

"You're too kind."

* * *

_[Next: The Quidditch Championship]_

_Thanks for reading! Please favorite and review!_


	35. The Quidditch Championship

**The Quidditch Championship**

Hermione, Ron, and Harry finally got to talk with Hagrid at Care of Magical Creatures on Monday. Hagrid seemed almost in a daze during class, so they didn't distract him until he was walking the students back to the castle.

Hagrid walked slowly. The rest of the students pulled ahead of them. Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were closest, talking together.

Hagrid blamed himself. "It's all my fault. Got all tongue-tied. They were all sitting there in black robes and I kept dropping me notes and forgetting all them dates you looked up for me, Hermione."

Then his mood changed abruptly and he almost shouted, "And then Lucius Malfoy stood up and said his bit, and the Committee just did exactly what he told them."

Thirty feet ahead of them, Draco jumped. He looked back, scowling.

Ron said, "There's still the appeal! Don't give up yet. We're working on it!"

This broke Hagrid down. He pulled out his enormous handkerchief and wept into it. Soon they reached the castle. As they climbed the steps he said loudly, "It's no good, Ron. That Committee's in Lucius Malfoy's pocket. I'm just gonna make sure the rest of Beaky's time is the happiest he ever had. I owe him that…"

Sobbing loudly, he turned and hurried away toward his cabin.

As they stepped through the main doors, Draco said contemptuously, "Look at him blubber!"

Hermione stared at him, shocked that he'd break the promise he'd made just two days ago.

Draco continued, "Have you ever seen anything quite so pathetic? And he's _supposed_ to be our teacher."

Furious, Hermione ran the few steps separating them and slapped Draco's face with all his strength. Draco staggered. Hermione shouted, "Don't you _dare_ call Hagrid pathetic, you foul—you _evil—"_

Draco regained his balance. His face had gone pale and blank. He made no response.

She'd make him react! She raised her hand to strike him again, but Draco didn't seem to notice. Not even his eyes moved.

"Hermione!" cried Ron, trying to grab her arm and missing.

"Get off, Ron!" she said. Draco's continued blankness enraged her. She drew her wand.

Draco took a step back, then stopped abruptly and stood almost at attention.

No one moved. After a second or two Draco seemed a little more like himself. His eyes focused on hers and his blankness was replaced by puzzlement. Her wand was pointed at his chest, but Draco neither moved nor flinched. Was he just _waiting_ for her to resume hurting him? She realized suddenly that this was how he was forced to endure his father's savagery. She felt a wave of shame struggling against her rage. It was agony. She hated herself; she hated Draco. It was unendurable, yet it went on and on.

Draco suddenly turned and said, "Come on," to the appalled Crabbe and Goyle. They went down the corridor that led to the Slytherin common room and were soon out of sight.

_"Hermione!"_ breathed Ron, awestruck.

Hermione whirled on Harry, who was staring admiringly at her. In a high-pitched voice she barely recognized, she said, "Harry, you'd better _beat him_ in the Quidditch final. You just better had, because I can't _stand_ it if Slytherin wins!"

After a moment, Ron muttered, "We're due in Charms. We'd better go."

As soon as they turned to leave, she spun her Time-Turner. She needed time alone to think.

Her thoughts led her around in endless, painful circles, so she gave up and went to the common room to review an Arithmancy chapter. The next thing she knew, Harry was prodding her. She'd fallen asleep!

Worse, she'd missed Charms class, and they'd covered Cheering Charms. Today of all days, when she needed cheering up the most! Frantic, she dashed to apologize to Professor Flitwick, then hurried to meet Harry and Ron for Divination.

She was still off-balance. Professor Trelawney was even more incompetent and offensive than usual, insulting Hermione openly.

Hermione snapped. "Fine! Fine! I give up! I'm leaving!" She stuffed her book into her bag and departed, promising herself that she would never return.

She didn't start weeping until she was out of sight of her classmates and Trelawney. She'd never walked out of a class before. Hermione Granger always finished everything she started. She was a failure.

She recovered and wiped away her tears. On the other hand, she was proud of herself for standing up to Trelawney. She couldn't wait to tell Draco!

She stopped dead. What was _wrong_ with her today? She and Draco weren't speaking!

Were they? No … surely not. Of course not.

She'd struck him _again._ Draco had never struck her or even raised a hand to her. _She_ was the violent one. Something was wrong with her. Harry and Ron were impressed with her for striking Draco, and their admiration made her so _happy!_ They'd been angry at her for so long, the glow of their approval made her feel warm and safe. The thought of losing it frightened her.

Or to put it another way, she was a terrible person. Violent, shallow, and easily swayed by her friends. Weak.

Which didn't mean that Draco wasn't _completely intolerable. _He was the world's most impossible boyfriend.

She glanced at her watch, which, _of course,_ had been a gift from Draco. It always told the correct time, in spite of her Time-Turner, and if it wasn't the most thoughtful gift she'd ever received, it was because some _other_ gift from Draco held that honor. She was scheduled to meet him in ten minutes.

She stopped in the deserted corridor and tried to think. What if their roles had been reversed—what if Draco had struck _her?_ But her brain kept rejecting the concept: it didn't make sense. Draco would never hurt her.

What to do? He'd be at the library on time. She wasn't sure how he'd manage it, or why he'd bother, but he'd be there.

She wanted to stay away; that's how cowardly she was. He'd want to cheer her up, which didn't even make _sense,_ and she didn't deserve it, anyway. He didn't deserve it, either! Did he? He'd broken his promise to avoid insulting Hagrid! But he deserved punctuality, at least. She pulled herself together and walked to the library.

There he was, sitting with almost genuine composure at the window seat in Esmeralda Valentine's nook. He was reading a book. He hadn't seen her yet, so she stopped to look at him. It wasn't _fair_ that he was so beautiful! His cheek showed no sign of her blow. Had he visited Madam Pomfrey?

She got closer and recognized the book. It _was Conflict Resolution for Your Pre-Teen, _the book she'd been reading the day she'd first slapped him, so long ago. It had been the first time she'd struck him and the first time he'd refused to hit her back, even after she'd goaded him into a towering rage. It was also the first time she'd caressed him. She'd given the book to him eventually, after he'd borrowed it several times, and he'd filled the margins with notes.

"Hello, Malfoy," she said.

He looked up and smiled. "Granger." His smile was genuine, but he was anxious.

She said, "I can't decide whether the book is a nice touch or a dirty trick."

"Genius is like that." He patted the seat next to him and she sat down. If either of them had fallen out of love, the magic of the window seat wouldn't have allowed them to sit together, but it was as welcoming as ever. Her relief was her first clue that she'd been worried about that.

They sat in silence for a moment, then Draco remarked, "One of us asks what happened. That's always our next step."

"What happened, Malfoy?"

"Hagrid blamed Father for his woes, which isn't true. He knew I was there! He was baiting me; reminding Potter and Weasley that bullying is okay if you don't like a boy's father. I insulted him back. But not to his face, so I'm ashamed of myself. You slapped me, so I suppose you weren't happy with me, either."

"You _promised!"_

"Ah. The promise. I promised _something_. Do you remember what, exactly?"

"You promised not to insult … don't tell me we didn't include _Hagrid!"_

"Buckbeak. I promised not to mention Buckbeak."

In a small voice, she asked, "Wasn't Hagrid implied?"

"No."

"I wasn't mentioning his name because it upsets you. Oh, Draco, I'm so—"

"That was quite a slap. And you almost hexed me, too! What spell did you have in mind?"

"I hadn't gotten that far. Draco, I owe you an—"

"We should work on that. I was trained not to draw my wand unless I'm ready to use it. I need to have a spell in mind. Here's a tip: it should get you a detention, tops. Not expelled."

"Aren't you angry? Mortified? _Something?"_

"I was lots of things. You saw."

"I'm not sure _what_ I saw. Can you tell me? But you interrupted my apology! I'm—"

"Stop! You know the rules, Granger," he said, getting to his feet. "Kiss and make up first, then argue and apologize if we still want to."

She stood as well. "Those aren't rules."

"Guidelines. People _say_ they put each other first, but _do_ they? No, they love arguing more than they love each other. But not us. We're different." He smirked at her and raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, _very_ clever. I'll look stupid if I argue now, so you think I'll give in."

"Feel free to argue if that's what matters most to you."

"I hate you, Draco Malfoy! You're the absolute worst."

"I detest you right back. And I'm _also_ the absolute best. Admit it."

"No." But her traitorous mouth smiled before she could stop it.

He gestured toward her study room and she went. Not meekly, but she went.

Once inside, she resisted his embrace. "Not yet."

"Take your time. A gentleman is patient." He folded his arms and started tapping his foot. It was every bit as irritating as he intended it to be.

"Why are you _doing_ this?"

"I'm not doing anything." His foot kept tapping. He smirked at her.

"Honestly, you're being so childish!"

_"You're_ being childish. Guess what Madam Pomfrey said?"

Hermione didn't want to know. His smirk and his tapping foot were driving her crazy. "Are you _seriously_ trying to irritate me into your arms?"

He pretended surprise. "There's another way?" Tap, tap, tap.

"Of course there is!"

"I'm game. How does it go?"

She groaned and buried her face in her hands. Tap, tap, tap.

She began to laugh. She couldn't help it. He took her in his arms. His foot stopped tapping. They laughed and kissed and laughed some more. She started to speak, but he tapped his foot and she desisted.

Later, after he'd announced loftily that it was all right to talk, she said, "None of this is in_ Conflict Resolution for Your Pre-Teen."_

"I improvised a bit."

"Tell me why you were so irritating."

"Emotions don't have a laser focus. They blend and blur. If we resolve a small conflict, it's still a resolution and it tends to erase the feelings from the big conflict, too. Then the big conflict is just a problem we can solve together. Together is good. I like together."

"That may be the wisest thing I ever heard."

"The twins explained it to Weasel Girl and she explained it to me. They deliberately get into trouble for something little when they're about to get smacked for something big. She says it wipes the slate clean every time."

"You like the twins, don't you?"

"Everyone does. I like the way they play the deepest game of any students at Hogwarts, but they're so good-hearted that no one feels threatened. Everyone knows all about them and they _still_ get away with anything they like."

"Ron and Harry are really impressed that I slapped you."

"They should be. You were brilliant."

_"Why_ are you so cheerful about this?"

Draco pretended not to hear. "So when I walked into the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey said, 'I see you irritated Miss Granger.' I asked her how she knew, and she said that Miss Parkinson has a weak arm and if it had been Miss Weasley, I'd had arrived on a stretcher."

"Ginny would slap you that hard?"

"More like a well-placed kick."

"Oh."

"Six older brothers."

"I see."

"I admired the handprint on my cheek in a mirror before Madam Pomfrey healed it. You loosened a couple of teeth, too. Just a little; they're fine now. Madam Pomfrey was impressed."

"Is she upset with me?"

"Not a bit. Try not to flinch if she calls you Slugger like I asked her to."

"Draco!"

* * *

The animosity between Gryffindor and Slytherin was at an all-time high. The Slytherins were angry at McGonagall's overreaction to their little Dementor prank. If McGonagall insisted on treating them like ruffians, they might as well act like ruffians.

Draco sent an anonymous warning to Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor captain, and when Slytherins attempted to nobble the game by roughing up Gryffindor players or Harry Potter's Firebolt, nothing came of it. True, there were random fistfights between students and even a wizard's duel that left a Slytherin and a Gryffindor with leeks spouting out of their ears, but nothing happened to the players or their equipment.

Draco contented himself with acid comments at Gryffindor's expense.

Last month's Slytherin-Hufflepuff game had been a triumph for Draco. He had spotted the Snitch and caught it just eleven minutes into the game, before either team had done anything interesting, meaning that victory was all about Draco. He'd liked that a lot. It had left Slytherin two hundred points ahead in the competition for the Quidditch Cup. Being two hundred points up meant that Slytherin would win the Quidditch Cup unless Harry could catch the Snitch when Gryffindor was more than fifty points ahead, which seemed unlikely.

* * *

Draco was a bundle of nerves on the morning of the game. Goyle said he looked pale. He couldn't even pretend to eat breakfast.

The game started normally enough, with the Slytherins booing the Gryffindor team and everyone else booing the Slytherins. If being a Slytherin indicated greatness, why didn't they have any friends?

Once the game began, the Slytherin team started fouling the Gryffindors at once. Gryffindor quickly took the lead anyway. The Gryffindors were far from dainty themselves, and soon Flint had a nosebleed that he ignored with wonderful aplomb.

Draco often flew to the rear of Harry. This was a standard Seeking technique, one that Harry never used. This drove Ginny to distraction and made her feel like a traitor because she was too shy to explain it to Harry. The logic was simple: If Harry, flying ahead of Draco, saw the Snitch and went after it, Draco would know. If Draco saw it anywhere but in front of Harry, he could pursue it with Harry none the wiser.

Harry also watched the game when he should be looking for the Snitch. This drove Ginny insane. Once Ginny stopped being shy around Harry, he'd be twice the Seeker he was today. All the more reason to trounce him now.

Harry suddenly swooped as if he'd seen the Snitch and zoomed through a cluster of players, narrowly avoiding being brained by both Bludgers. Draco followed more cautiously, first because he'd been fooled, than later because he had no better path out of the scrum. The two Slytherin Beaters collided, and in the general confusion, Flint scored Slytherin's first goal. Thank you, Potter!

Harry continued watching the game until the Snitch appeared twenty feet above his head. Harry didn't notice. Draco, outside Harry's field of view, raced for the Snitch. Harry finally noticed and went after it, but now the Snitch was on the move. The two brooms converged as they pursued the darting Snitch. Harry pulled ahead, but Draco reached out his left hand and grabbed the bristles of Harry's Firebolt, then braked.

It took a long time for Harry to realize what was happening. He looked back to see Draco hanging onto his broom and laughing.

Draco kept his eye on the Snitch long after Harry had lost track of it. When it was almost out of sight, Draco let go. With luck he could catch it in a minute.

Madam Hooch called a penalty for Draco's foul, of course. By the time Gryffindor had botched their penalty shot, the Snitch had vanished again.

Harry started following Draco closely, surging forward to bump into him when he could, but not hard enough for a foul to be called.

Tiring of this, Harry zoomed through a formation of Slytherin players for some reason. Draco didn't pay much attention. He was looking for the Snitch.

And there it was! Down low, just a few feet over the pitch. Draco dove for it at top speed. It was a perfect approach. He was within a second of catching it when Harry Potter swept past him, both hands off his broom (why?) and plucked the Snitch out of the air.

The stadium erupted in cheers. After the Gryffindors took a victory lap, they landed and were mobbed by supporters. The Slytherins landed and were mostly ignored.

Draco felt blank. To have defeat snatched from the jaws of victory like that was … well, it was a lot of things, really, but he was going with _disorienting._

Suddenly Cho Chang and Cedric Diggory were standing in front of him. "Bad luck, Malfoy," said Diggory.

Draco sighed. "That's Quidditch for you." He focused on his visitors with an effort. "You looking to congratulate Potter?"

"Can't get near him," said Diggory. Harry was surrounded by his team and a group of persistent well-wishers.

"I can fix that," said Draco.

"How?" asked Chang.

"I'll shout a few insults. While the rest of the team is beating me to a pulp, you talk to Potter."

Chang laughed. "How chivalrous!"

Diggory said, "This is getting ridiculous. We should all be flying standardized brooms. That Snitch was yours, Malfoy."

"Don't I know it! I'm with you. Standardized brooms are good for the sport and bad for Potter, so there's no downside."

The crowd bore Harry on their shoulders to the stands, where Dumbledore was holding the Quidditch Cup in both hands. Chang and Diggory said goodbye and headed in that direction, leaving Draco standing alone on the pitch.

He'd missed the best chance he'd ever have at defeating Harry Potter. Surely next year Ginny would overcome her shyness and teach Harry the ABC's of Seeking. Her irresistible enthusiasm would overcome Harry's Muggle-raised cluelessness. He might be unbeatable after that.

It was a bad sign that Father hadn't bought Draco a Firebolt as soon as Harry got one. Father liked to give the impression of unlimited wealth. Everyone in the wizarding world had expected Draco to be given one, and when it didn't happen, the rumors began flying. This was not a comfortable time to be Draco Malfoy. Not that it ever had been.

And if You-Know-Who kept to his usual rhythm, something dreadful would happen just before school ended in June, which gave Draco a month to prepare. It sounded like a lot of time, but he had no idea how to use it. What form would the crisis take?

He knew that his main task was to prevent Hermione from having a total breakdown. She took classes so seriously! And if she were exhausted and sluggish when the June confrontation came around, she might be killed. Hermione was desperate for perfect marks and the praise of her teachers. Draco, though an excellent student, was far less fixated on such things.

Time to head to the locker room. He forced himself to start moving.

He caught sight of Hermione, her face aglow, standing near Harry as the Gryffindor team walked noisily off the field. She saw him and her joy faded. She was concerned for him. He nodded and her happiness returned. She flashed him a brilliant smile, then turned to Ron.

Draco continued walking to the locker room, unaware that he was smiling, too.

* * *

_[Next: Cousin Sirius]_

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	36. Cousin Sirius

**Cousin Sirius**

For Hermione, May and June went by in a blur. In theory, her problems were over. She had made up Ron and Harry, and the three were as close as ever. She'd forgiven Draco for insulting Hagrid and he'd forgiven her for slapping him. Quidditch season was over, so the rivalry between Draco and Harry (and between Slytherin and Gryffindor) lacked a focus. Everything was calmer and more cheerful.

That left schoolwork. Hermione had so much schoolwork! So much it was mind-boggling, even to her. Everyone said she was studying too hard. Well, not Draco. She had dark circles under her eyes and often had difficulty concentrating. She alternated between anger and tears and lashed out at anyone who suggested that she slow down.

Fortunately, Draco had experience with obsessive friends. Theodore Nott was a case in point. Theo was the sweetest boy until he became focused on a project and neglected everything else—like changing his clothes and bathing.

Draco could keep him on track. Being Draco Malfoy, he did this by being insufferable. His go-to technique was to pull books out of Theo's bookcase one at a time and put them back upside down. Theo couldn't stand even this token level of disorganization and his resistance soon crumbled. Draco made it funny as well as intolerable, so Theo usually gave in with reasonably good grace—though he couldn't leave the room until every book had been put back properly.

Draco put his foot down and refused to let Hermione skip their meetings in the library "just this once" so she could study a little more. In the privacy of her study room, he insisted that she relax quietly in his arms for half an hour during their afternoon meetings. She inevitably fell asleep, as he intended. When she awoke to the gentle chime of her watch, he had often nodded off himself. She'd never told him how beautiful he was when sleeping. Though this had become her favorite part of the day, she kept begging him to let her study instead. He always refused.

He still insisted on checking all her work and was always ready to discuss course material with her.

Draco studied like an athlete in training, working hard but never staying up late. He refused to worry about marks. This made a certain amount of sense to Hermione, but she had no intention of following his example.

* * *

Professor Lupin was glad that exams were almost over. He was tired. But once he'd tested his third-year Slytherins, he'd be done for the year.

For their Defense Against the Dark Arts exam, he'd set up a nice, practical obstacle course. He was pleased with how well his students had fared so far.

When the Slytherins arrived, Draco Malfoy took him aside and said, "I hear there's a Boggart."

Lupin nodded, "There is."

"I'd like to go last, if I may."

"Why?"

"You won't have a Boggart anymore if my second method works."

Lupin was intrigued but pleased with Draco's initiative. "I'd like to see that."

"I don't mind showing it to you."

"Very well, Mr. Malfoy."

The students performed as Lupin had expected. Theodore Nott, a brilliant student, wandered with apparent aimlessness through the course, with its quagmires and a gigantic hollow tree trunk concealing the Boggart. He made no mistakes and won full marks. Millicent Bulstrode, summoning her usual grim determination, did almost as well.

Gregory Goyle was instantly confused by the Hinkypunks and led deep into the quagmire, from which he had to be rescued. Vincent Crabbe was also led astray, but realized his mistake in time to haul himself back onto the path. On the other hand, both he and Goyle stolidly defeated the Boggart by following Lupin's training to the letter.

Pansy Parkinson ignored the Hinkypunks' efforts with contempt, but the Boggart terrified her. She'd fled, weeping and distraught, but she was a true Slytherin and turned even her distress to her own advantage. She threw herself into Draco's arms. Draco had kept her at arm's length all year, but he comforted her now. She sobbed that her previous fear had been replaced unexpectedly by a terror of Dementors. She was the fourteenth of Lupin's students this had happened to, though most weren't as high-strung as Pansy and took it better.

Finally it was Draco's turn. Most of the students had already departed, and he told his friends to do likewise. Lupin watched carefully as Draco strode through the first part of the course without the least hesitation.

"Excellent, Mr. Malfoy," he told Draco, noting down the time. The Boggart was the last part of the test. The other students had faced the Boggart alone, but Draco invited Lupin to accompany him.

Draco reached into his robes and took out a pair of mirrored Muggle sunglasses. He put them on and said, "Boggarts are impressed by coolness. That's my secret."

Lupin smiled and said, "Proceed."

Draco stepped into the enormous hollow tree trunk. Lupin followed.

An apparent Dementor appeared at the other end, accompanied by a chill that went right to Lupin's core. The Boggart-Dementor moved towards them.

Draco raised his wand and said softly, _"Expecto Patronum."_

Brilliant white light poured from Draco's wand, far stronger than seemed possible for a third-year. Then the light coalesced into a corporeal Patronus, a small winged creature, so brilliant that Lupin couldn't make out what it was at first. Draco sent it darting to the Boggart-Dementor, which fled back into its hiding place and vanished.

Draco's Patronus flew back to him. Draco held out his left hand. As soon as it touched his hand, it vanished.

Lupin rubbed his eyes. He understood now why Draco had worn sunglasses. "That was an Owl of Athena, wasn't it?"

"Yes. The companion of the young goddess of battle and wisdom."

"I'm surprised, Draco."

"That's 'Mr. Malfoy' to you, Remus_._ I _meant_ to say that it brings death on silent wings and can see in both light and darkness."

"That's better." Had Draco just confessed his love for a girl? Confessed to _him, _of all people? But he knew not to go there. Instead, he said, "Are you ready for your second attempt?"

"Almost." Draco left the tree trunk, put his sunglasses away, and, after a moment's hesitation, put his wand away as well.

They turned around and stepped back into the hollow tree trunk, Draco in the lead. After a moment, a creature appeared. It looked rather like a large monkey. It took a step forward and then suddenly let out a terrible cry. Its eyes rolled up until only the whites showed, then it slumped to the ground, where it lay as if dead. After a long pause, the creature exploded, leaving nothing behind but wisps of smoke.

Lupin was amazed. "You killed it."

"Yes," said Draco, looking more exhausted than triumphant.

"How?"

"I'll give you three guesses."

Lupin waved him towards the entrance and soon they were back in the sunlight. Draco looked weary, so Lupin sat on the grass as soon as they reached the lawn. Draco sat near him.

Lupin said, "It saw two different fears in you."

"Obviously."

"Occlumancy?"

"Yes."

Lupin was impressed. "Why did it die?"

"I convinced it that the thing I'm most afraid of is the sight of a dead Boggart."

Lupin stared at him. Finally he said, "That is very twisty thinking, Draco."

"Thank you, _Remus."_

"Why did you let me watch?"

"I wasn't sure it would work. I wanted backup. Also … do you know my cousin Tonks? Nymphadora Tonks?"

Lupin smiled. "I do." He didn't see Tonks often, but they were pals.

"She's my favorite cousin. Ask her about me sometime. Sometime soon. Tell her I asked you to."

"I will."

"And my second-favorite cousin is Sirius Black."

"Have you even met him?"

"No, but I only _have_ two cousins. Our beloved Ministry isn't above perjury and jury tampering, but Cousin Sirius didn't get a trial _at all._ So I figure he's either innocent or an imposter."

Lupin didn't doubt this. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Potter fights a duel at the end of every school year with You-Know-Who, or maybe his revenant _du jour._ The fur will fly any time now. Please don't kill my cousin any more than you have to; I have so few of them. And try to keep Potter and his friends alive."

Lupin was a bit boggled by this onslaught of news and didn't know what to say.

Draco started to get to his feet. "Well, see you later, Professor. Oh, wait, I almost forgot." He sat down again. "Well done, keeping those horrible robes all year. I'd have been disappointed if you'd let me bully you into buying new ones. Only friends get to do that."

Lupin said, "I will watch your career with interest, Draco."

"That's 'Mr. Malfoy' to you, Remus, my boy. 'Lord Draco' is also acceptable."

Lupin laughed, "As you wish, Mr. Lord Draco Malfoy."

"That's better."

* * *

That evening, Draco was studying in the library when Myrtle appeared, bursting with news. "Harry Potter and Hermione Granger are being taken to the hospital wing. They're unconscious! And so are Ron Weasley and Sirius Black."

Draco threw down his quill. "Thanks, Myrtle. I'll go straight there." He opened the door to his study room and startled Ginny, who had been about to knock.

"You heard?" said Ginny. "Hi, Myrtle."

"Let's go," said Draco. He and Ginny ran all the way to the hospital wing. If Myrtle followed, she took a route of her own.

There was quite a hubbub in the hospital wing. Cornelius Fudge and two other people from the Ministry were there. So was Dumbledore.

Fudge turned to them and said, "What business do you two children have here?"

With an effort, Draco controlled his fury. He froze Fudge with his coldest stare and drawled slowly, "My _father_ believes in patient confidentiality, Minister. As for Miss Weasley, I _suppose_ she's concerned about her injured brother, if that's _quite_ all right with you."

Fudge was taken aback and was relieved when Dumbledore called to him, allowing him to escape without replying. Ginny scampered over to where Ron lay in a hospital bed, unconscious but breathing normally.

Madam Pomfrey told her, "Broken leg and weakness from the Dementor attack, poor boy. But he'll be all right."

She saw Draco standing further away and said more loudly, "And the rest will recover in no time. No need to worry." And in fact Hermione's color and breathing seemed normal.

Dumbledore looked at Draco, glanced at the door, then turned away. Draco took the hint and left the infirmary, waiting just outside the door.

Dumbledore appeared a minute later. "Let us hurry, Draco." He moved with surprising speed. After they'd turned the corner he said, "Remus told me about your corporeal Patronus during dinner. Do you think you could cast it tonight?"

"Yes."

"I am going to talk to Sirius Black now. I want you to come with me."

"Thank you, Professor."

Draco kept pace with Dumbledore. They soon reached the room in which Sirius Black was locked. Surprisingly, no one had been left on guard. Dumbledore removed the three locking spells, naming them out loud to Draco as he did so. Draco knew all three, though one was quite obscure. Hermione had taught it to him.

Dumbledore took a step back and waved his wand at the door, which opened. Sirius leapt to his feet and stood trembling and wild-eyed, calming somewhat when he recognized Dumbledore. His matted hair and filthy clothes weren't his only problems. He'd clearly been in a fight and his injuries hadn't been treated.

"Dear me," said Dumbledore. "Hold still, Sirius, and I'll deal with your cuts and bruises."

Sirius resignedly did what he was told. His gaze turned to Draco.

When Dumbledore finished, Draco stepped forward, hand outstretched. "Draco Malfoy," he said.

Sirius stared, then suddenly gripped Draco's hand. "Sirius Black. And how is my aunt Narcissa?"

"Mother is quite well, thanks. So is father. They never speak of you for some reason."

Dumbledore said, "I'm afraid I must curtail the reunion and speak privately with Sirius. Go into the corridor and persuade or prevent anyone from entering."

"How?"

"Use your judgment. Since you are not a Gryffindor, I need not remind you to avoid needless heroics."

Draco scowled and opened his mouth to object.

Dumbledore said, "I beg your pardon. Indulge me and avoid needless heroics, Draco. I need your help later tonight."

As Draco left the room, Sirius asked, "What was that all about?"

Dumbledore closed the door and Draco didn't hear his reply.

Draco found a niche containing a large urn he could hide behind. It blocked his view, so he stood at the edge of the niche, ready to duck behind the urn if necessary.

Ten minutes passed in silence, then the door opened and Dumbledore came out, closing the door and restoring the three locking spells, then turning to Draco.

Draco said, "All quiet, Professor."

"Excellent. I want you to continue guarding the door until my return. It's not inconceivable that Dementors will be the next creatures to enter the corridor."

Draco put on his sunglasses and pulled his locket from under his shirt, leaving it in plain sight, not that many people could notice it. Dumbledore did, though.

Draco said, "I have precious memories to destroy a thousand Dementors, Professor."

"I'm sure you do. Now I must dash. I will return as soon as I can." He hurried off.

Myrtle stepped through the urn and stood beside him.

Draco said, "I'm glad you're here. Keep me company and be ready to run for help if we need it."

She nodded, biting her lip.

A few minutes later, Draco felt a chill and a sense of gloom. He glanced at Myrtle and she nodded; she felt it, too. Then they heard the Dementors. They walked quietly but not silently.

They turned the corner and came into view, about twenty Dementors, immensely tall and clad in ragged black robes. The chill and despair became stronger, threatening to sweep Draco away. Then he clutched his locket in his left hand and remembered.

He remembered the purring of Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris, after she'd been de-petrified by the Mandrake draught. As Draco petted her, he watched Madam Pomfrey administer the draught to Hermione, lying in the next bed. Hermione's stony coldness melted away, color came into her cheeks, and she took the first breath she'd taken in months.

Draco sat down beside Hermione and said, "Hermione, it's time to wake up." He brushed a stray lock from her face, then bent and kissed her on the lips. On her warm, soft lips. He felt her smile and saw her open her eyes. She had come back from death; she had been born again. And in that moment, so had he.

Draco smiled at the approaching Dementors and said, as if continuing a conversation, "It's not that I love Hermione, you know. It's that it's true love. There's a difference. _Expecto Patronum."_

The entire world went white in spite of his sunglasses, then his owl Patronus was diving joyously at the Dementors, harrying them as they fled in voiceless panic. They soon turned the corner, his Patronus still darting and diving at them.

There was a sudden scream. Someone must have been in the next corridor! Draco ran to investigate.

Dementors and Patronus were already out of sight. On the floor, writhing in pain, was one of Draco's least favorite people: Walden Macnair, his father's most loathsome crony. Even Lucius Malfoy barely tolerated Macnair and had promised to murder him if he ever managed to be alone in a room with Draco. And yet here they were.

Macnair must have been leading the Dementors to murder Sirius, only to be trampled by them. The executioner's hood had slipped over Macnair's eyes and he couldn't see as he writhed and groaned on the floor. Draco pointed his wand at Macnair's head and said with contempt, _"Somnium." _Macnair slumped, unconscious.

Draco kicked him hard in the ribs and returned to his post. Myrtle had vanished.

Almost at once he heard Hermione's voice, high and excited, saying, _"Alohamora!"_ Draco looked around wildly, but she was not in the corridor.

A moment later he heard Sirius' voice and the cry of a hippogriff. Harry Potter's voice was added to the mix. They were rescuing Cousin Sirius by air!

A minute later, it was all over. The sound of enormous wings faded into the distance and all was silent.

Draco took a deep breath, neutralized the three spells, and cautiously opened the door. The room was empty. The big double windows stood wide open.

Draco closed the windows and locked them with a spell. He looked around for stray evidence. It would be just like Potter to ruin the perfect crime by strewing his possessions about. All Draco found was a single Hippogriff feather, which he hid in his robes.

He turned to leave, then realized that Snape might guess all the details unless he was misdirected or, better yet, _enraged._ Draco found a sheet of parchment and a quill, and wrote in big block letters:

TOO LATE, GHOULS!

GRYFFINDOR RULES!

SLYTHERIN DROOLS!

Placing this where it couldn't be missed, he left the room, closed the door, and replaced the three spells. As he departed, he kicked Macnair again for luck.

* * *

It was just after midnight. Hermione couldn't believe they'd made it. Buckbeak and Sirius were saved! She was worried about poor Professor Lupin, though, all alone in his werewolf form in the Forbidden Forest.

She didn't understand why Snape had acted_ totally insane_ after finding Sirius gone, or why he insisted on blaming Harry when he clearly had no _idea_ how the deed had been done. It was so unfair!

Madam Pomfrey had shooed Snape and Fudge and even Dumbledore out of the hospital wing, but soon had to leave herself when the unconscious Macnair was discovered. For some reason she refused to bring him into the hospital wing, declaring that she'd stabilize him just enough to be transported to St. Mungo's—and even that was more than he deserved.

No sooner had Madam Pomfrey left than Draco arrived, putting his wand away.

"That door was locked!" said Hermione.

"Couldn't be. I'm here, aren't I?"

Hermione looked around. Ron was definitely asleep, but what about Harry? "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Treatment for my migraine."

"Oh, poor you."

"It's the price of genius. You wouldn't know about that, Granger. All you have is muddle and plod."

"Go away and stop bothering us."

Draco looked closely at the other two patients and nodded. "Just keep in mind that I'll be walking out of here soon and you're stuck here until tomorrow."

Hermione thought about this, then she went to Harry's bed and whispered, "Harry, are you awake? I need to know. Just nod your head." Harry remained still.

She crossed to Draco and whispered in his ear, "Lupin's out there in werewolf form. He'll be back to normal at sunrise. If you could meet him with some trousers and bring him up to date, that would be good."

"All right. I was outside Cousin Sirius' room. I heard a hippogriff."

"That was Buckbeak! Oh, Draco, I was so scared! And, earlier, the Dementors tried to kill Harry, just like you said they would. Harry drove them off with a Patronus Charm. A corporal Patronus, can you believe it? No one knows how we rescued Buckbeak and Sirius. I'm hoping Snape won't figure it out."

"He won't."

"Why not?"

"I went in and locked the windows after you left, then put back the spells on the window and door. I left them the tidiest locked-room mystery you ever saw."

"You're wonderful!" She moved to hug him.

He held up his hands to ward her off and murmured, "You're not _too_ awful yourself. I left Macnair unconscious in the corridor. That was mostly an accident. It'll draw Snape's attention away from the window, though. And _my_ corporeal Patronus chased away the Dementors that came to kill Cousin Sirius just before you arrived. You're welcome. So be a good girl and go back to bed. Leave the rest to your Uncle Draco."

She tried to kiss him but he backed away. She sighed. He was right. She was only _hoping_ Harry was asleep.

* * *

In the morning, just before sunrise, Draco encountered Dumbledore in the entrance hall. Dumbledore had a small bundle under his arm, just as Draco did.

"Good morning, Draco," said Dumbledore.

"Great minds think alike, Professor."

"I'm flattered you put me in the same category as yourself."

"You should be."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Tell me, Draco, did the Dementors arrive before or after Sirius made his mysterious escape?"

"Before."

"And Mr. Macnair?"

"Trampled by the Dementors when they fled from an unknown Patronus."

Dumbledore beamed. "How fitting. Did anyone see you?"

"The Dementors saw me, and Myrtle. Otherwise, no."

"Yes, Myrtle found me and told me about the Dementors. How is she?"

"She'll forgive me by lunchtime. I said something nice about Miss Granger without saying anything about her." He'd dropped by her bathroom before bed last night to give her the news. She'd sulked and wept more than he could deal with in his exhausted state, so he'd promised a rematch after breakfast.

A figure beckoned to them from the edge of the woods. It was Lupin. Draco pointed. Dumbledore waved and said, "I think I'll leave this next part to you, Draco. Tell Remus to meet me in my office when he's ready."

Draco walked to where Lupin was concealed and gave him the bundle of clothing, telling him, "I took these from your suite, so they should fit."

"Thank you, Draco."

"Remus, we had our little conversation about first names just _yesterday."_

"So we did."

Draco raised an eyebrow. If Lupin was going to be _that_ way about it … "About last night—did you eat anyone interesting?"

Lupin laughed. "Did you have anyone in mind?"

"Macnair."

"Really, Draco! No one's ever _that_ hungry."

Lupin finished dressing and Draco looked him over critically. Lupin looked exhausted, but he'd pass.

Draco said, "Those really are the _worst_ robes. You won't get any wolf-whistles in those. _I _think they're a practical joke."

They started walking towards the castle. Lupin said, "You flatter me, Draco. Employment for people like me is difficult. I need every coin I can save, and then some."

"To keep the wolf from the door?"

Lupin smiled. "I haven't had a conversation like this in years."

"Don't you _dare_ say I remind you of James Potter."

"Your cousin Sirius, then." After a moment, Lupin asked, "Is everyone all right?"

"Macnair had an accident and was sent to St. Mungo's. Professor Snape foamed at the mouth like a mad wolf when he learned Cousin Sirius escaped. Weasley had a broken leg, but it should be healed by now. That's about it."

"What did you think of Sirius?"

"He needs a tailor even more than you do. Hard to say, otherwise. He shook my hand when I offered it."

Lupin stopped and stared at Draco, then offered his own hand. Draco shook it. Lupin said, "Thank you, Draco. I'm much obliged to you for reaching out to my old friend. When did you learn of my condition?"

"I _wondered_ when you fell ill the second time."

"That was quick."

"Are you the one who taught Potter the Patronus Charm?"

"Yes."

"That must have been tedious."

"We got there in the end. You learned yours from Snape?"

"That's right."

"That must have been effortless."

Draco laughed. "I wouldn't say that. But Snape's Patronus is beautiful, and he taught me to focus not on happiness, but love."

Lupin said, "That's … a remarkable insight. And very appropriate for Snape. He's had so few happy moments, but his love was so intense that I've always been surprised he survived it. I hope you're paying close attention to his _unique_ example, Draco."

"Careful there, Remus. But yes. He's a sterling example and a terrible warning rolled into one."

"Aren't we all," murmured Lupin. His eyes suddenly widened and he said, "Your Patronus … 'the companion of the young goddess of battle and wisdom,' you said. You're in love with Hermione Granger, aren't you?"

Draco smirked. "We Malfoys _demand_ the very best."

"It's none of my business, but—"

"We've been together since our first year. Hardly anyone knows except Dumbledore and a few teachers. Potter and Weasley don't have a clue. Not that they ever do."

They started walking again. As they reached the steps and Draco said, "Professor Dumbledore says to see him as soon as you're ready. No time to moon about, just wolf down your breakfast and then see him right away. That's my advice."

"Thank you, Draco. I expect he will fire me, but one never knows. Either way, I'm sure we'll meet again."

"I'm looking forward to it, Remus. Wait." He took out a scrap of parchment and wrote a note on it. He handed it to Lupin. "It's a letter to my tailor, telling him to fit you with whatever you like and charge my account. That Patronus Charm you taught Potter saved my girlfriend's life last night."

Lupin put the note away in his robes. "I'm much obliged, Draco."

"And those robes were getting on my nerves."

* * *

_[Next: The Invitation (Goblet of Fire)]_

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